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LIBRABY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





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DEW DROPS. 



POEMS 

BY 
LEDA BOND. 






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milwaukee: 

Press op the Evening Wisconsin Co. 

1896. 



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Copyright, 1896. 

By Mattie H. D. Feldsmith. 

All Rights Reserved. 



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QiVv/ow^vv. 






THIS LITTLE BOOK IS FONDLY DEDICATED 

TO 

RAYMOND AND LEOTTA, 

My two beloved children, who, when the shades of sorrow 

closed around me, stretched forth their baby fingers, 

and, parting the curtains of gloom, revealed 

once more^the gladsome light of 

a happier day, 

LEDA BOND. 



Prerace. 

They fell upon my bended head, 

Four little drops of crystal dew. 
They eased its burning and its pain ; 

They magnified, and through and through 

My torpid veins they gently flow, 

To-day as then ; though years, 'tis true, 

Have fled ; and now I give to you 

Life's latent streams from youth's sweet dew. 

Leda Bond. 



Contents. 

PAGE. 

The Wood, . . 9 

Never Again, ......... 10 

Pleasure's Fruits, . . . . . . . .11 

The Wine Cup, 13 

To Mildred, My Baby, 14 

Pansy Eyes, ......... 16 

The Region of Song, . . ... . . .17 

To Mrs. Stanford, ........ 20 

At the Depot, . 21 

To Kate, . . . . . . . . .22 

You and I, . , 23 

To Emma, . . . . . . . . .26 

Castles, . . . . . . . . . . 27 

Music, .......... 29 

When I Am Dead, ........ 31 

Free in Death, 33 

Adrift, 35 

In Memoriam, ........ 37 

Sequel, .......... 39 

To the Memory of Rev. John Brady, . . . .42 

From Out Our Band, ....... 44 

A Secret, ......... 45 

In Memory of Leonard Dix, ...... 48 

Explained, ......... 49 

Reply to a Tribute, ....... 52 

5 



CONTENTS. 



Redeemed, 

Mysteries, 

To Esther Lea, 

Our Better Hours, . 

The Old Man's Dream, 

If We Knew, . 

Shrouded, 

A Picture, 

Victory, . 

I Cannot Say Good Night 

At Last, . 

Bonds, 

Take What is Given, 

Transplanted, . 

Farewell, 

Pleading, 

Tribute to Lillie Quinn, 

The Deserted Hearth, 

One Woman, . 

A Legend, 

Friendship, 

An Empty Life, 

Look Below, 

The Harvest's Blight, 

Sans Dieu Rien, 

My Baby, 

At the Portals, 

Good- Bye, 

Be Gay While You May, 

Severed, . 

The Maid of Orleans, 



53 
55 
57 
58 
6i 

63 
65 
67 
69 

71 

73 
75 

n 

79 
80 
81 

83 
85 
87 
89 

93 
94 
95 
96 
98 

99 
loi 

103 

104 

105 
106 



CONTENTS, 7 

PAGE. 

To the False Friend of My Youth, . . . .109 

Lost Gems, . . . , . . . . .112 

The Darkest Page, .113 

We'll Meet No More, 115 

Come to Me, 116 

Old Letters, 117 

In Memory of Belle, 118 

Pity, 119 

Baby Willie, 120 

Seven Years, . . . . . . . . .121 

Look Higher, ......... 123 

New Year's Eve, 124 

To Eben E. Rexford, 126 

Love and Pride, . . . . . . . .127 

Interpreted, . .128 

Haunted, . . . . . . . . .130 

Youth, 132 

Repentance, ......... 133 

A Woman's Heart, ....... 135 

A Wish, 138 

Sympathy, ......... 139 

Retribution, . . . 140 

Musings, ......... 143 

Plato's Disciple, 144 

Pearls, . . . . . . . . . . 146 

To a Friend Bereft, ....... 147 

After the Storm, . . . , . . . . 148 

Life's Illusions, . . . . . . . . 149 

To an Absent Friend, ....... 152 

Slander, .......... 153 

A Dream, . . ^ . • . • . • • I55 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Unmasked, . . . . . . . - .157 

Little Nora, 158 

Too Late, . . . . . . . . , 160 

Adieu to Seymour, . . . . . . .163 

What I Will Be, 165 

Heart's Hauntings, ....... 166 

A Last Good- Bye, 167 

Faith's Reward, ........ 169 

Welcome Home, . . . . . . . .171 

Reflections, . . . . . . . . .172 

To Friendship, . . . . . . , .175 

Doubt, .......... 177 

Look Deeper, ......... 179 

" O, Let Me Dream Again," 182 



DEW DROPS, 



tbe Ufooa. 



Oh, the wood, the silent wood ! 

And the path that led by the door, 
To our little nook by the amber brook, 

And the face I shall see no more. 

O, that face with its youthful grace, 
And the blue eyes deep with woe, 

And the slender hand with its frail gold band. 
That I gave so long ago ! 

O, the years that are filled with tears, 

And the echoes from the past. 
And that voice so low from the long ago, 

Shall be with me till the last ! 

O, the tread of the cherished dead, 
O'er the bridge from then till now. 

And the faces sweet that my sad eyes meet. 
And the tombs over which I bow ! 



lo NEVER AGAIN. 

O, the past, the joyous past, 

That whispers to me, " Forget 
The present years, with their toil and tears, 

And their hours of sad regret !" 

But its dreams are gone at the morning's dawn , 

And the future, cold and stern, 
Bids me onward come to my self-made doom , 

Nor seek to the past to return. 

So now farewell. Your funeral knell 

Is rung in my heart to-day. 
I must say, " Begone," and travel on. 

O'er the rough and thorny way. 



Never again, O heart that once was shaken 
By unrequited love down to your very core. 

Never again your chambers, dark, forsaken, 

Shall glow with joy as they have glowed of yore. 

A new love may be given to another, 

A tender, pitying love you yet may feel ; 

But oh, the one great passion which you smother^ 
Your heart's new-studied part will not reveal. 



PLEASURE'S FRUITS. ii 



Pleasure's fruits. 



I have been of the world the most worldly ; 

I have groped after pleasure and fame, 
And thought that its grandest achievements 

Were reached in a high-sounding name. 

I have honored its poets and sages, 

And deemed them the nobles of earth, 
Nor paused to go back to the manger, 
The bed of the Mighty One's birth. 

I have felt the deep thrill of the music, 
That chimes at the opera and ball; 

I have tasted the nectar of pleasure, 
But O ! I have drunk of its gall. 

For the smooth, gliding whirl of the german, 
Like a serpent has charmed into sleep 

The soul that awoke at the day-break, 
To think on its folly and weep. 

I have stood 'neath the gleam of the gas jets, 
With a smile, nay, a lie on my face. 

While my heart pleaded loudly for pardon. 
Begging God to withdraw not His grace. 



12 PLEASURE'S FRUITS. 

While my feet moved in time to the music, 
My soul shrank in sorrow away, 

And knelt at the feet of its Maker, 

To cast down my burdens and pray. 

I have been of the worldly most worldly, 

I have hearkened to pleasure's sweet call, 
1 have smiled at the gleam of its goblet, 
But wept when I drank of its gall. 

So now to the husli of the sanctum, 
I turn me with thorn-mangled feet, 

To offer a heart to its Maker. 

O, tell me, sweet Christ, is it meet 

To offer a gift worn and faded, 

Its beauty all marred in the strife, 

That should have been given while spotless 
And sweet in the Springtime of life ? 



THE WINE CUP. 13 



tbe mine Cup« 

O father, I see a great, black snake 

Coiled in your flowing cup. 
As gaily you sip the crimson wine, 

He's draining you sup by sup. 

The death of happiness, home and friends, 
In his sharp, white fangs I see. 

As he hides himself in the bitter dregs, 
Awaiting his hour with glee. 

O father, I see a mastless ship. 

Adrift on the mighty wave, 
And a poor, lost soul cries out to me, 
'' Save me, O daughter, save !" 

But madly the timbers are torn apart, 
And the fated wreck sinks fast. 

All this I see in the ruby wine, 
As the cheery toasts are passed. 

O father, I see an empty hearth, 
And I miss my mother's face, 
And hunger and cold have seared my soul^ 
While I bow beneath disgrace. 



14 TO MILDRED, MY BABY. 

O father, put by the tempting bowl, 

Which the serpent lurks within. 
Ere he cuts your heart, with his sharp, white fang, 

And coils you about with sin. 



to mnarea, my Baby* 

To-day with a heart full of anguish, 

I've been quietly putting away 
My little darling's wardrobe, 

And the sharers of her play — 
Freeda, her wee, Dutch baby, 

My beads and her basket of toys; 
And every moment I hearken 

To hear the birdlike noise 
Of her baby voice — low humming 

O'er her busy, childish play — 
Till the sun in the west is waning. 

And I mark the close of day. 

O ! Mildred, my beautiful baby ; 

! Mildred, my brown-eyed dove 
How could I bear this parting, 

Were it not that '' God is love ?" 
And He cradles you in his arms, 

While mine are empty to-night, 
And his smile is sweet upon you. 



TO MILDRED, MY BABY. 15 

As I sit in the dim firelight 
I can hear your childish laughter, 

And your little brother's voice, 
On that far-off, gold-paved playground. 

Why should I not rejoice ? 

For the gates of sin and sorrow 

Are forever barred to you, 
My two fair, birdling babies ! 

And the words sound grandly true, — 
" Of such is our Father's kingdom." 

I must bend beneath His rod. 
And touch my feet to the pathway 

That His only Son has trod. 
Sweet links that draw me to Heaven, 

Bend down from your starry home, 
And whisper to me, my darlings. 

The message I long for, *' Come !" 

Aug. 28th, 1891. 



i6 PANSY EYES. 



Pansy eyes. 



What else so sweet beneath the skies 
As deep, absorbing pansy eyes ? 
What else can hold the potent spell 
That in their liquid depths doth dwell ? 

They follow us through dreams at night. 
Their pleading gaze of wondrous light 
Doth o'er us fling a mystic veil 
Through which all else seems tamely pale. 

Such eyes have thrilled my inmost heart, 
Have made me feel of them a part, 
Have drawn me unresisting on 
To where wee Cupid's crown is won, 

Have made me subject to their call. 
Then loosed me gently from their thrall , 
And smiled a merry glance that said, 
"Thus by our will all hearts are led." 

I fain would veil my lingering glance, 
From eyes that thus my soul entrance ; 
But when their opiate spell is o'er, 
I long to feel its charms once more. 



THE REGION OF SONG. 17 

I would that I possessed their power. 
It is from fate a wondrous dower ; 
But sad it is for those who dwell 
Beneath their all-bewitching spell. 

Yet those are not the eyes for me — 
As dark and treacherous as the sea. 
The eyes I love are stern and cold, 
Yet manly truth and honor hold. 



Cbe Region of Song. 

I will gather to-night, in sweet fancy. 

The friends who have loved me the best ; 

There are many far, far from the hearthstone. 
And many forever at rest. 

Some with heads that are hallowed and silver. 

Some bearing the trophies of life, 
And others whose brown hands are calloused 

By earnest endeavor and strife. 

There are proud heads held high in glad triumph ; 

There are sweet, pallid faces among ; 
There are trusting and innocent childhood. 

And manhood young, fervent and strong. 



1 8 THE REGION OF SONG[ 

And among those the dearest are many- 
Low down on the ladder of fame ; 

The dearest, because with their number 
I write both my purpose and name. 

But to-night, in the hush of my chamber, 

I sit by my hearth all alone ; 
Alone both in heart and in presence, 

While yet amid friends and at home. 

Alone ! for no loved one can reach me ; 

My soul on the dark wings of night 
Is soaring away through a region 

Made grand by its myst'ry and height. 

Alone ! for all earth's joys and sorrows 
I leave far behind in my flight ; 

The lamps of the town seem extinguished ; 
I see by a clear, sacred light. 

No hand, by a friend or a stranger, 
Is offered to guide me along ; 

I'm led, like a child by its master, 

Far up through the region of song. 

And oft, when the pale light doth flicker, 
I stumble and sink by the way, 

While praying in faint, hungry accents. 
For strength, my weak vision to stay. 



THE REGION OF SONG. 19 

Then bright grows the light in the distance, 

As slowly it guides me along, 
And gladly I strive, although feebly, 

To reach the far region of song. 

The friends whom I leave far behind me 
Seem calling me back from my dream ; 

Again the faint Hghts of the city 

In their glimmering sockets do beam. 

And while slowly the gray dawn is breaking 

O'er green-mantled valley and hill, 
I turn to the loved ones around me 

The echoes of song-land to still. 

But their voices are hushed by its murmurs. 
So loud the sweet clamor has grown ; 

And, while seeking their help and affection, 
I'm still in my dreams all alone. 

Like the rippleing voice of a fountain. 

That whispers in rhythmical glee, 
My heart-strings trill back a glad answer 

To the unseen musician, while he 

Seems leading me on all unconscious 

Of the world's busy turmoil and throng. 

Through sorrow, through pain and rejoicing, 
To the beautiful region of song. 



20 TO MRS. STANFORD. 



to XCix%. Stanford, 



In thought I am far in the West to-night ; 

In a low mud-cabin I see a Hght ; 

I can see a grief-bowed silver head, 

And the low-breathed name of the cherished dead. 

She left her home, this dear old friend. 
Whose deeds did ever with mercy blend ; 
And traveled on till, sore oppressed, 
In a stranger land she was laid to rest. 

Full many an eve have I crossed the wood 

To the sheltered nook where her old home stood ; 

And oft till the full moon rose I'd bide 

In happy converse by her side. 

I have seen the great tears well and fall 
On her dear old cheeks at some sad heart's call ; 
And from off the bounteous board she spread 
No hungerer turned away unfed. 

Ah, deep is the grief in the old man's heart ; 
She was all he had, yet they needs must part. 
He is sitting now o'er his hearth alone. 
There is none to hear his bitter moan. 



AT THE DEPOT. 21 

Old friend, come back ! There are hearts still true, 
And they hold a welcome kind for you. 
The old home waits for your keeping still. 
Here are peace and rest, if you only will. 



Ht the Depot 

My friend, we are parting to-day, 

Lightly saying good-bye with a clasp of the hand; 
We are smiling farewell into each other's eyes, 

Deep swelling regret under iron command. 

But among the small band of my long-cherished 
friends, 

Who merit this title I earnestly give. 
Your name in the book of fond memory shall hold 

A place deeply sacred to me while I live. 



22 TO KATE. 



to Hate. 



One year ago, this day, this hour, 

Oh, friend of mine, beloved and true, 

I sat beside the dear old Fox, 

And talked o'er childhood days with you. 

We gaily chatted, laughed, and sang. 
While at our feet the waves did play ; 

Then talked of parting. Had we thought 
We'd part so soon ? Ah well-a-day ! 

Nay ! stay that tear ; 'tis all in vain ; 

The years must pass from out our hold. 
Old Time defies the powers of earth; 

We cannot tempt his speed with gold. 

We live, we love, yet all must part. 

That one who holds your hand to-night, 
When age has silvered your dark hair, 

Must watch you fading from his sight. 

Nil desperandum ! We shall meet 

When those green leaves are autumn red ; 
You are not less my cherished friend. 

Though I'm a maid and you are wed. 



YOU AND I. 23 

Vou and !♦ 

To us all come hours when sorrow 

Lies so heavy on our hearts, 
And the future seems so darksome, 

That we fear to act our parts, 
Lest we fail, and by our failing 

Drag some mighty project down. 
That was, after years of striving, 

To have won for us renown. 

There are days when clearest zenith 

Wears a cloud upon her face ; 
When in voices that we love most. 

Cold repulsion we can trace. 
Searching we can find no gladness 

Over all the land or sky ; 
In the sweetest notes of music, 

We discern a smothered sigh. 

Eyes that ever beamed with kindness, 

Seem to give a stranger glance ; 
Words that once were wont to soothe us, 

Wear the edge of keenest lance, 
Making every nerve to quiver. 

Causing bitter tears to start, 
And the thoughtless words of jesting 

Will sink deep into the heart. 



24 YOU AND I. 

Every life has known such hours. 

Oft, 'mid gayest scenes of earth, 
There is one, ah, mayhap many, 

Who but wear the mask of mirth 
And the idle word forgotten. 

Ere its echo dies, has sped 
Back to memories fraught with sadness, 

That we fondly hoped were dead. 

You have laughed and been the gayest 

Till a songby stranger sung 
Will have blanched your face with anguish, 

And your heart with sorrow wrung. 
Sparkling repartee may lighten, 

But more often wounds the hearty 
For there is no life so joyous, 

That it knows not sorrow's smart. 

And the past is ever with us, 

Tho' a veil is o'er its face, 
One quick word though idly spoken, 

Tears the screen from out its place, 
And removes the pall of silence. 

From a past we hoped was dead. 
By our lips the words were spoken. 

That a healing wound have bled. 



YOU AND I. 

So refrain when pride would spur you 

To sustain a haughty part. 
Better clasp the hand that wronged you, 

Than estrange a loving heart. 
For when hps are curled in scorning, 

Oft the heart pleads loud in vain. 
And the cold, derisive laughter 

Hides a note of bitter pain. 

Ah ! both you and I have offered 

Cold indifference, while our soul 
Bowed before the shrine in secret, 

Where it offered up the whole 
Of its truest, noblest feelings. 

Yet refused the proffered prize. 
Just because pride's demon tempted. 

And we closed our longing eyes. 



25 



26 TO EMMA. 



to €mma. 



Your letter came ; it said but little 

In point of words, yet 'twixt the lines 

I read its meaning kindly spoken, 
For this is your way to be kind. 

Not broadly spoken, open-hearted, 

Disinterested to all you seem. 
Or try to seem, but I have met you 

In other worlds, or in a dream, 

Where down beneath the faulty surface, 
Your better judgment penetrates. 

And with a soul, sincere though faltering. 
Your deep, reserved, true nature mates. 

The many daily smiling round you, 
But wear at best a shallow mask, 

How many ever win your friendship. 
From out the throng, I will not ask. 

For in this dreamland where I meet you, 
Few honest hands do clasp our own. 

You smile your smile, repeat your greeting, 
But oftenest go your way alone. 



CASTLES, 27 

Castles. 

TO MRS. M. J. CAMPBELL. 

My heart is filled with pleasant dreams, 

To be shared, my friend, by thee. 
Deep in yon grove of waving pines 

A sheltered nook I see, 
That we shall seek with our babes and books 

Each calm, bright summer day. 
And in genial converse on things we love, 

While the quiet hours away. 

For you shall tell of the masters 

Who have thrilled your tuneful heart, 
And caused their grand vibrations 

To seem of your soul a part. 
Until inspired by the melody, 

You forget the things of earth, 
And soar away to that region 

Where your song-life had its birth. 

And I shall tell of the poets, — 

Holland, of sweetest song, 
Who taught me to hope for better 

Than is sought by the busy throng. 
And to build my trembling ladder. 

From the lowly earth to the skies. 
Where I hope to see the Master, 

With my own poor sin-dimmed eyes. 



28 CASTLES. 

And while we read and dream and talk, 

Of our aspirations here, 
Lo ! The voice of the Prince of Heaven, 

So deep and sweet and clear. 
Speaks thus to our souls : '■'■ My children, 

Build not upon the sand. 
But rear for thy souls fair mansions, 

Untouched by worldly hand. 

"And the walls shall be of amber. 

And the floors of solid gold, 
And I shall stand at the portals 

And welcome you to my fold. 
For the castles of earth shall crumble, 

And the work of the artists decay ; 
But my work shall endure forever ; 

And I shall be with you alway." 

And we rise in the hush of the evening. 

And slowly return to our homes, 
While, life seeming grander and better, 

And our soul-eyes are seeking the domes 
Of the far-distant, amber- walled city. 

We take up the battle of life 
With new inspirations and valor 

To aid us along in the strife. 
May 14, 1894. 



MUSIC. 29 



music. 

Music thrills my heart to-night, 

Music soft and low ; 
Tones that vibrate through my soul, 

Calling back the long ago. 

Minor tones, like spirit voices, 

Whisper sadly in my ear ; 
Then a deep and tender cadence 

Calls a quick, regretful tear. 

Music charms me ; how I love it ! 

Tender memories softly swell ; 
Thoughts which nothing else can bring me 

In its sad, sweet wailings dwell. 

Graceful fingers, white and fragile. 
Sweep the keys like vanished hands. 

Bearing me in perfect transport 
Back to long-forgotten lands. 



30 MUSIC. 

Something in it seems to soften 

Hearts that long have coldly slept, 

Something that will bring the tear-drop 
To eyes that have not in years wept. 

Narrow souls expand before it, 

Bitter words are hushed, and rest 

Takes the place of unjust anger, 
In the turbid, tortured breast. 

Many a poor and lonely alien, 

Far away from home and friends. 

Feels his heart warmed by the magic. 
That familiar music lends. 

Let each home be graced by music ! 

Let each weak heart feel its cheer ! 
May its pure and hallowed workings. 

Yet be stronger year by year ! 



WHEN I AM DEAD, 31 



Ulben T am Dead* 

When I am dead, oh friend so silent now, 
Will there be naught to touch thee 
In my calm and pallid brow ? 

Will these pale lips that oft have spoke tny praise, 
Call in the hush of midnight. 
From out the silent grave? 

Will you not pause in passing the city of the dead, 
To pluck the purple pansies 
That grow above my head ? 

And think of those I gave you so very long ago, 
While with their bloom I vied, 
In life's fresh girlish glow ? 

Have you forgot that morning at Lake Como's side, 
When we together waited 
The swift incoming tide ? 

You plucked a pebble from the dear old shingly 
shore ; 
It lies to-day in keeping, 
Among my cherished store ? 



32 WHEN I AM DEAD. 

And later when my eyes were dirn with bitter tears, 
You spoke in tones deep shaken, 
Of all the coming years. 

When you must struggle bravely, aye, proudly, on 
alone. 
Ah, noble friend ! will not this grief atone 
For the great wrong you've borne? 

But I was cold ; my heart was set on lofty aims ; 
Ah, woe is me ! of all the years, 
What are at last my gains ? 

I groped for fame, but garnered only grief; 
Yet all is well to-night, 
For death shall bring relief. 

I spurned your love, withholding a heart's store ; 
This much at last is mine, 
A world I've traveled o'er. 

Only, when pain has dimmed my aching eyes, 
Amid the scenes of youth. 
To breathe death's last spent sighs. 

Then, when I'm dead, oh friend so silent now, 
Will your forgiving tears 
Fall on my pallid brow ? 



FREE IN DEATH. 33 



Tree in Death, 

Darling, kiss me ; I'm dying ; 

List to the storm-king's moan. 
Out on the billows at midnight, 

My spirit must travel alone. 

But oh, my beloved, you are with me, 
To kiss my last breath away ; 

And after this sweet hour of rapture, 
My heart holds no longing to stay. 

For years I have prayed for this moment ; 

To-night it is given to me. 
The boatman awaits in the harbor, 

To waft me o'er death's mystic sea. 

And many are there at the landing, 
To welcome my soul to its home, 

But you, oh, my own, are the dearest, 
And yet I must leave you alone. 



34 FREE IN DEATH. 

I've loved you so long and so fondly, 

I cling to you even in death. 
Will you feel, when I'm laid in my coffin, 

That it's well for us both I'm at rest ? 

Was it just that we ever were parted ? 

Or did you deem it best all the time ? 
In heaven will God break asunder 

The bar that held your heart from mine ? 

Oh ! clasp me more closely, I'm going ! 

Hold my hand till I'm safe on the shore ; 
My spirit escapes from its prison 

And death's anguish soon will be o'er. 

Good-bye ! oh good-bye ! Can it be, love. 
That all who die suffer such woe ? 

This parting is rending my heart-strings, 
Christ calls — fare-thee-well — I must go. 



ADRIFT. 35 



Cast on the world alone, 
Adrift on its pitiless tide ; 

No one to hear my moan, 
Not a friend at my side ! 

Why are its waters so cold. 
Its sky of such lowry hue ? 

Why do all prove false, 
Who should prove true ? 

Why do sweetest draughts 
Hold dregs of bitter gall ? 

Why does the curse of God 
On my life fall ? 

Why do the fairest flowers 

While blooming fade and die ? 

Why do the mighty winds 

Through the long night sigh ? 



36 ADRIFT. 



Why are my days so short, 

My nights so cold and long ? 

Why is there a wail 

In my happiest song ? 

Why am I thrown on the world, 
With never a friend or home ? 

Why in the gayest throng 
Am I still alone ? 

Why is there not some spot, 
Beneath all heaven's dome. 

Far from the din and strife, 
I may call home ? 

Cast on the world alone, 
Adrift on its pitiless tide ; 

No one to hear my moan, 
Not a friend by my side ! 



IN MEMORIAM. 37 



Tn ntcmoriam. 

Rest thou, O, rest ! 

Thy voyage here is o'er ; 
We'll meet thy kindly face, 

Amid our throng — no more. 

Fold thy tired hands 

In peace upon thy breast ; 
For rest is surely thine, 

Among the pure and blessed. 

God dealt this blow, 

Oh, lonely, stricken wife ; 

And little orphaned ones, 

Whose hearts with pain are rife ! 

He sent grim death to snatch, 
Your loved and best away. 

His rod has smitten thee, 

Yet stay, O ! in thy anguish stay. 

The strongest link that bound 
Thy heart to earth is riven ; 

A husband's firm, true hand, 
Is leading thee to heaven. 



38 IN MEMORIAM. 

Forget that but a day, 

An hour must intervene ; 

For unseen angels pass 

Thy soul and his between. 

His life of honest worth, 

Was known and blessed by all ; 

No truer, nobler soul. 

Has answered the last call. 

Each heart beats sad for thee, 
And Hps refuse to tell, 

The sympathy and grief 
That in allj bosoms dwell. 

The clouds are dark to-day 
But yet the sun will shine. 

Reunion's rapturous joys 
Will follow — for all time. 



SEQUEL. 39 



Scducl. 



The church is aglow with warmth and light, 
And each ample pew is filled to-night, 
And every face is smiHng and bright, 

For this is the eve of the bridal. 

Joyously sweet is each organ note, 
Then solemn and grand on the air they float. 
While the white-haired priest in his sable cloak, 
Awaits at the marble altar. 

Anon the notes rise loud and clear, 
While the bridal party, drawing near. 
Halts at the door in its grand good cheer. 
And the chimes are gaily ringing. 

Louder still do the notes arise, 
Seeming to pierce the vaulted skies. 
While the pale, young bride, with downcast eyes, 
Is slowly led to the altar. 

Every eye for a moment dwells. 
Every heart for a moment swells. 
And every face its interest tells. 
In the lovely stranger. 



40 SEQUEL. 

For the withered man at her side, though old, 
Is a titled peer with wealth untold ; 
And the hand that he clasps is as dead and cold 
As the heart within her. 

While each response in her low voice falls. 
Another voice to her memory calls, 
Till a hand on her own most gently falls, 
And the farce is ended. 

She smiles ; but the deep-drawn, shuddering sighs, 
And the haunted, far-away look in her eyes, 
Each tells of the past that enshrouded lies, 
In its early coffin. 

Pitying glances are cast around. 
And the wedding march has a weird sound. 
And the dying heart gives a frightened bound. 
Then ceases beating. 

For she raised her eyes in a moment's glance. 
And the gaze she met, like the sharpest lance. 
Has pierced her through, then a death-like trance, 
In mercy follows. 



SEQUEL. 41 

Wild the wails of the organ rose, 
Then fell with a crash into quick repose, 
And the throng stood still, in horror froze 
At the sight before it. 

Dead to all, on the old man's breast. 
Has the poor young wife from her woes found rest ? 
Oh ! would that she thus were forever blest, 
To never waken ! 

That hand whose touch did the organ thrill. 
Lies helpless now, and the heart is still ; 
For the stranger who played with a last, strong will, 
Was the young bride's lover. 



42 TO THE MEM OR Y OF RE V. JOHN BRAD Y, 



Co the memory of Rev. 3obn Brady* 

Who of those that pass in silence 

To the city of their rest, 
Fold their hands, nor seek to murmur, 

Feeling it is for the best ? 

Who that stands in awed reverence, 

O'er that stately form of clay. 
Can deem well the law that withers 

Life at such an early day ? 

We have watched that long procession, 

Filing slowly to the 'grave; 
Do we feel 'tis well, O Father? 

Do our hearts no solace crave ? 

I have sat in rapt attention ; 

Heard with soul deep-thrilled and stirred^ 
From those lips now mute forever, 

Grander made God's holy word. 

Early on his noble mission, 

Leaving home and kindred ties. 

Breaking all of sweet youth's tendrils, 
Seeing life with soul inspired. 



TO THE MEM OR Y OF RE V. JOHN BRAD V. 43 

He had sought a humble mission. 

Has he yielded all to die ? 
Nay ! he lives, Christ's crowned immortal, 

With the ransomed band on high. 

Yes, Thy will be done, O Father ! 

You in wisdom called him home. 
Though we may not ask the wherefore, 

Known to Thee, his God, alone. 

You, his brother, but beginning 

In the same great harvest field, 
'Tend the fruits his hands have planted ; 

He in heaven will watch their yield. 

Parents, raise your hearts in gladness ; 

All your pain is worth this hour. 
You have raised a son most noble. 

Can your life have greater power ? 

O'er his tomb we bless his memory, 
For he blessed his Savior's name. 

Could he hold a grander mission ? 
Could you greater honor claim ? 

May those thoughts be balm of comfort, 

In your lonely home and heart. 
Like the knights who bled for honor, 
He has chosen the better part. 



44 FROM OUT OUR BAND. 



Trent Out Our Band. 

Gone ! my pale-faced little pupil, 
With the somber, pleading eyes ; 

Hush ! nor dare to groan or murmur ; 
Offer no regretful sighs. 

She is safe, poor, weeping mother, 
Though your heart is lone to-night ; 

Your tired eyes are dimmed by sorrow, 
Her's are bathed in heaven's light. 

Little Freda ! how we'll miss you ; 

Miss your sweet, shy, pallid face : 
When the roll was called for honor. 

You were ever in your place. 

When your playmates gather 'round me, 
Every morn and night to sing, 

L shall know that one who left us 
Sings in heaven before our King. 



A SECRET. 45 



J! Secret 

** Well, Fan, I've a secret to tell you ; 

But oh, if you ever dare tell! 
John Kimble is going to marry. 

That little upstart of a Belle. 

" Her ma told my mamma last evening, 
And said if she ever should learn 

That mamma had breathed it to mortal. 

Her friendship henceforth she would spurn 

•* And now I must leave you, dear Fannie, 

For Harry is coming to-night. 
And I have but two hours to dress in, 

Oh, dear ! he will find me a fright." 

*^ ^ jf, .u. 2i£. tU. 4^ .Ae. 

•Tr *A" "TV* •TV" 'I^ -tS" TV ^ 

*' Now, Maud, you must promise, on honor, 
That you'll never tell what I say. 

Jen Harver, that sad flirt and beauty, 
Was here with her gossip to-day. 

"And do you know, love, Johnnie Kimble 

Is to marry Belle Burtis in spring. 
What a fool to waste a whole life-time 
With that little baby-faced thing ! 



46 A SECRET. 

' 'And Jennie is just broken-hearted ; 

Her face was as pallid as snow. 
With all her presumption and beauty, 

She couldn't win Johnnie you know." 



" Oh girls, have you heard of the latest. 

The very best morsel of news ? 
It will make your hair stand up on tip-toe, 

And raise you right out of your shoes. 

''I called on Lill Benton this evening. 
And oh, girls, you never will tell ? — 

Young Kimble has jilted the heiress, 

And in spring will be married to Belle. 

"And Lill, I just wish you had heard her ; 

She called Belle such terrible names, 
She failed, though she tried hard to catch him. 
But why should poor Belle be to blame ? 

** Well, now I must go — I'm so sorry; 

But Belle will be with us to tea. 
I always did love her so truly. 

And the dear little thing worships me." 



A SECRET. 



47 



*^ I say, girls, if Maud isn't brilliant ! 

As if she herself was not scooped ! 
She'd lead you to think her an angel, 

But we are not easily duped. 

** And Johnnie was such a nice fellow, 

The very best catch of the day. 
That that little insipid nobody 

Should win him's a shame I must say !" 

■itr ^Af M, M, xi, ,M. M, M, M, 

■*' Hark ! is that the door-bell a-ringing ? 

Belle Burtis, as sure as I live. 
You darling ! what made you so silent. 

When your good luck such pleasure would 
give? 

^*I'm sure there is no one more worthy 
Of wearing the laurels you've won. 

Accept our most honest good wishes. 

Right straight from the heart of each one." 



48 IN MEM OR V OF LEONARD DIX. 

Tn memory of Ceonara Dix« 

Sleeping, is he ? Hush your footsteps ; 

Gently draw the pall apart. 
See ! a mother bends above him ; 

Looks her last with breaking heart. 

Bruised and torn he lies before us, 
Telling us of God's great power ; 

Glad in youth, without a shadow, 
Met his doom within an hour ! 

Gone our school-mate, friend and brother. 

Cruel seems that hand which smote ; 
Mournful is the solemn cadence, 

Of the last deep funeral note. 

But the Eye that calmly watches 

O'er this world so fraught with pain, 

Snatched him early from its pit-falls, 
And a truer life he'll gain. 

From the school-room we shall miss him, 
Miss his happy, smiling face; 

Though the many throng around us. 
None can fill his vacant place. 

Sleep in peace ; your work is finished. 

Though your mission here is o'er, 
Many hands are stretched to greet you, 

Over on the other shore. 



EXPLAINED. 49 

Explained. 

When you come and stand before me, 

With that strangely regal air, 
Bow your shapely head so gravely, 

Crowned with dark brown, wavy hair, 
You recall a face and figure, 

Laid to rest so long ago ; 
Travel-worn, tho' yet in boyhood — 

'Neath the bleak Carpathian snow. 

And so like your low, deep accent. 

And so like your quiet ways. 
That whenever you are near me, 

I am living o'er old days. 
Twirl the ring upon your finger ; 

Brush the hair from off your brow ; 
Every little act recalls him 

Clearly to my vision now. 

He, the pet of high position ; 

I a humble orphan girl. 
Many were the covert arrows 

Wealth and pride did at me hurl. 
But my blithe heart was unconscious, 

Or if not, would seem to be, 
And the shafts meant for one only, 

Cut more deeply him than me. 



50 EXPLAINED. 

Well, the days fled by, and autumn 

Came to tell us we must part ; 
And each leaf that fell and withered 

Seemed to weigh upon m)'' heart. 
For each brought a surer token 

Of the silent, swift decline 
Of a heart so prized by many, 

That was soon to have been mine. 

When I watched the slow receding 

Of the carriage o'er the hill. 
It would seem my heart ceased beating, 

In its pain it stood so still. 
But my life yet held its duties. 

And I must needs bear my part. 
Who has not been forced to rally, 

While grief lingered in her heart ? 

Slowly one more year had glided 

Down the darksome slope of years 
Bringing to the many gladness. 

To me only irksome fears ; 
For the life last autumn fading, 

Must this autumn see its close. 
And the anguished desolation 

Which this brings my lone heart knows. 



EXPLAINED. 51 

Well, all things must cease — 'tis over. 

Far from home and love's sweet ties, 
He, the idol of my girlhood, 

Sleeps beneath far distant skies. 

And when you so quietly enter, 

Oft, perhaps, you've seen me start, 
For your tone, so like another's. 

Drives the blood from out my heart. 
So heed not the sudden flushing 

Of my face when you are near. 
'Tis the past of which I'm dreaming, 

Scenes and faces gone, yet dear. 

You will deem this revelation 

Only romance on my part. 
Thus we cheat the outer seeming, 

But we cannot drug the heart. 
We may meet and smile on many, 

Laughing down the bitter truth. 
But the only true affection. 

Is that given in our youth . 



52 REPLY TO A TRIBUTE. 



Reply to a CriDutc. 

Well worded, my friend, is your honeyed effusion, 
But surely you've jumped at a foolish conclusion, 
For the beautiful creature your fancy has painted. 
By all of the grossness of nature untainted. 
Believe me, you'll find but a myth. 

Yours humbly. Miss Leda, the plainest of mortals, 
Has never had even a glimpse of the portals 
Of that sweet, celestial, far home of the angels. 
Save in night's hallowed dreams, when in fancy she 
ranges, 
In worlds more ethereal than this. 

yf. T^ "^ >f. ^ "ij^ "Sf^ "Sj^ ■^ 

Those lips, like wee twin opals set in pearl, 

In bitter, scornful, cruel smiles can curl; 

And she whom you would deem beyond all speech, 

To woman's grand attainments cannot reach, 

Though earnestly her whole life striving. 

So mould the fancied creature out of clay. 
'Tis sad, I know, the beauteous one to slay ; 
But that which we may see and know is real 
Is better than that mystery doth conceal, 

Though very poor it be in the contriving. 



REDEEMED. 53 

With pleasure I will grant the boon you crave, 
Decorum's strict injunctions though I waive ; 
For while our aspirations are the same, 
In spicy rhyme to you I yield the claim, 

And bow in honor of your muse's thriving. 



Redeemed 

Into the shade of the old, arched hall. 
Noiselessly crept a woman frail ; 

Pausing not till she humbly knelt, 
Bowing her head on the altar rail. 

Slowly she raised her weeping eyes 

To the marble face of the Christ above, 

That wan, sweet face so filled with woe, 
Yet gazing down with a mighty love. 

" O ! Jesus, look on my blotted soul ; 
Enter my heart so foully black ; 
Make it pure as in childhood days ; 

Cleanse, oh cleanse, and take it back ! 

" Down to the deepest pits of sin. 
Aye, to the very verge of hell, 
I have descended, step by step, 

Living through scenes no tongue can tell. 



54 REDEEMED. 

" Night has found me in the streets, 

Luring the pure from their homes away. 
'Mid sin-doomed regions of the town, 
I, in my beauty, held proud sway. 

" The face of my playmate in childhood days 
Has haunted my guilty heart through all; 
For I fear to meet at the bar of God 

The soul I have filled with sin and gall. 

" To-day I met upon the street 

The man who stole my honored name ; 
And the face I loved more than God and home 
Brought back the past in a tide of pain. 

" One word — the name once loved at home. 
Uttered by him at my mother's side, — 
Was all ; and he passed his separate way. 
Held aloft by his wealth and pride. 

"x\ longing came o'er me to turn my steps 
Back to the paths that my girlhood trod, 
And I have come with my blighted life 
Here to the feet of an injured God." 

Then, while sobs convulsed her frame, 
Lowly her head sank on her breast. 

Here from a life of sin and pain. 

This weary soul had come for rest. 



MYSTERIES. 55 

Twilight deepened into night. 

Still she crouched in anguish there. 
Morning broke ; but her soul had fled, 

Cleansed, redeemed, by that last mad prayer. 

And what of him who had wrecked her life, 

Offered all and gave but shame ? 
He was a man ; and a mask of gold 

Shielded his crime from the slightest blame . 

O ! mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, 

Stoop to redeem a woman lost ; 
Shun the man who has wrought such wrong, 
Dare to condemn him at any cost. 



mysteries* 

How sad to see two human hearts, 
By some strange chance mismated ; 

One with a pure, exalted soul, 

With boundless purpose freighted. 

Wedded to one whose stolid brain 
Will never learn to fathom 

The heights and depths it cannot reach. 
And so there yawns a chasm 



56 MYSTERIES. 

That every year makes wider still, 
One crying out in hunger, 

To sink at last beneath the tide, 
That it can stem no longer. 

Perhaps in all the range of worlds 
A destined soul is waiting, 

To touch the deep, responsive chords 
Its hand alone may waken. 

Perhaps the low, sweet minor tones 
Of souls the more exalted, 

Were really meant to blend in life 
With those so gross and faulted. 

Perhaps the lives so thwarted here 
Will somewhere find fruition 

For noble deeds that went as naught, 
Or a true heart's contrition. 

Perhaps the dreams that lured them on 
To sure defeat and sorrow, 

Will find their realizing joys 

In their true sphere to-morrow. 



TO ESTHER LEA. 57 

The world and all its strange mistakes, 
To us seem wondrous problems, 

That we may never solve on earth. 
Or of their mystery rob them. 

So wherefore question Fate's decree ? 

God's hand the wheel is moving, 
That guides, in His own chosen way, 

Each barque from earth to heaven. 



to €$ther Eea, 

Esther Lea, sweet Esther Lea, 
Your baby face is fair to see. 
The gas jets gleaming on your face, 
Your little form in childish grace 
Reposing in its gilded frame 
Across the way. 

You are the rich man's petted child. 
Yet sweet, submissive, loving, mild, 
Alike endeared to rich and poor. 
The tramp that hungers at your door, 
Forgetting earth's chill, bitter air, 
Fares hke a king. 



58 OUR BETTER HOURS. 

Ah, Esther Lea, sweet Esther Lea, 
Full twenty years have flown away, 
And you are now a regal bride ; 
A household angel, husband's pride. 
But in that home across the way. 
Still Httle Esther Lea. 

I see you still in gasHght glare, 
With daisies in your golden hair. 
And smiles upon your dimpled face. 
Ah, years, stern years, retrace, retrace ! 
Give back the babe's unconscious grace. 
And fill once more that vacant place. 
Give Captain Lea his child ! 



Our Better l)OMr$. 

There are hours when our hearts 
To all that is grandest, 
Respond with a vigor 

That reaches a height 
So noble, so pure, 
So unlike its own standard, 
That it pauses to wonder 

From whence came the light. 



OUR BETTER HOURS. 59 

There are times when a tear 
That was called forth by sorrow, 
For one who had robbed 

And embittered our life, 
Will fall and our full hearts 
Their anguish will borrow, 
While with kind emotions. 

Our being is rife. 

There are moments when we 
Would forego all life's pleasures, 
If thus we could gain 

For another the prize. 
When thoughts of their victory- 
Fill us with gladness, 
And tears of rejoicing. 

Will moisten our eyes. 

There are hours in our lives 
When we bow in submission, 
To trials the sternest 

And saddest that come. 
When sacrifice great 
Would to us be a pleasure. 
And all that's within us 

Revolts at the wrong. 



6o OUR BETTER HOURS. 

And oh, could we hold 

To the guest that has entered, 

The heart's inner sanctum, 

The home of the soul. 
We'd cast from its soil, 
Every tendril of evil. 
And drink without dregs 

From the pure nectared bowl. 

We'd drive from our hearts 
Every evil intention, 
And rise far above 

All that's vicious and low ; 
And oh, what a harvest 
At last we might gather. 
For it has been said, 

" Ye shall reap as ye sow." 

We'd smile on the ones 

Who had caused us deep sorrow. 

And hold for their memory. 

No shadow of blame; 
And feel that if we 
Were like them sorely tempted, 
We might in our weakness, 

Have fallen the same. 



THE OLD MAN'S DREAM. 6i 



tbe Old man's Dream, 

Yes, the clouds are dark in the Western sky, 
And the winds in the leafless branches sigh. 
And the snowbirds chirp in a sadder tone, 
And the old man sits at the hearth alone, 
And smiles in slumber. 

He paces again the vine-wreathed porch, 
At the twihght hour, and the fire-fly's torch 
Is all that illumines the happy scene 
That comes each night in the old man's dream, 
To fade at morning. 

For the sweet young wife with golden hair, 
Who knelt each night by his side in prayer, 
Has long since gone to her quiet rest, 
But her spirit waits 'mid the pure and blest 
His own late coming. 

And the baby hands that clasped his own 
Are folded away 'neath the sculptor's stone, 
And the empty house, with its silent gloom, 
And ghosts of the past, is a living tomb, 
And still he slumbers. 



62 THE OLD MAN'S DREAM. 

Again he smiles at a happy sight, 
For he sees his home aglow with Hght; 
And a young bride comes in her wedding gown 
And twines her dimpled arms around, 
And murmurs, " Father!" 

But his faded lips are quivering now. 
And pain is marked on his furrowed brow, 
For he sees his child, in her wedding gear, 
'Neath the coffin lid, and he seems to hear 
The bridegroom weeping. 

Still the wind is wailing sad and low, 
And the great earth sleeps in its shroud of snow, 
And the old man sighs and smiles in dreams, 
As he sits alone by the fire's bright beams, 
Till dawn is breaking. 

Dream on, old man, while yet you may, 
For soon, ah soon, there will come a day 
When the fire in the grate will flicker and die. 
And the winds o'er your resting place will sigh 
Their farewell requiem ! 



IF WE KNEW. 63 

Tf me Knew. 

If a word will bring the brightness 

Back to some poor burdened heart 
That has stumbled on life's highway, 

Too outdone to bear its part, 
Why do we withhold the treasure 

That we might as balm bestow ? 
Ah, my friends, this is our answer : 

*' Who can tell ? — we do not know." 

'Tis not that we grudge the kindness. 

But we do not pause to think 
That we daily leave behind us 

Some poor shipwrecked soul to sink. 
In our vain pursuit of pleasure, 

Self-asserting every one, 
We forget that life has duties 

That we in our blindness shun. 

We will smile in cold disdaining, 

Feigning not to see the pain 
That our kindest art can never 

Drive from out that heart again. 
Where will be our petty triumph 

O'er that proud head bent in shame, 
When the heart we've wrung with anguish 

Never will pulsate again ? 



64 IF WE KNEW. 

Oh, could we but stop and ponder, 

Ere we speak a cutting word, 
Pause to think how vain the anger 

Some mistaken act has stirred. 
When we stand beside the coffin 

Of our most detested foe, 
All the vain remorse we'll cherish 

Only God and we may know. 

There we'll see how frail and helpless 

Is that silent form of clay 
That we've sought to shake and torture, 

And more wisely go our way. 
Why resent each httle trifle ? 

Which of us can say that he. 
While so bitterly condemning, 

Is from those same follies free ? 



SHROUDED. 65 

Sbroudcd. 

FOR A FRIEND. 

To-night I have yielded my treasure, 

And henceforth I travel alone ; 
Each hour that I live is a burden, 

Each breath that I draw is a moan. 

At morn I will wake with a shiver, 

As slowly this breaks upon me, 
And then I must rise and wade outward 

Alone through the deep, darkening sea. 

No weak backward glances, undoing 

The task I have sadly begun ; 
No thoughts of the joys that are buried. 

And what in return have I won ? 

Oh ! you who are ready to censure. 

And make my tired footsteps more sore. 

Take heed lest your own soul grow weary 
Ere reaching the long-trodden shore. 

Take heed lest you say in your anguish, 
'' She asked, but I gave not again; 

I cut still more deeply the gashes, 

And sneered at the maddening pain. 



66 SHROUDED. 

" I left her no pathway to travel, 

Unsought by the slanderous mart ; 
Rejoiced when the steel of a traitor 

Pierced deep through her quivering heart." 

The past, ah ! who would not undo it ? 

Who feels that his record is clear ? 
Who enters the bourne of the future 

Without a misgiving or tear ? 

So leave me at peace in my sorrow. 

Not pity, but silence I crave ; 
For mine is a grief as unyielding, 

As cold, and as deep, as the grave. 



A PICTURE. (i-j 



JK Picture. 



All alone in my chamber at night, 
No one to mark the look of pain ; 

No one to see the white, drawn lips 

To-morrow will wreathe in smiles again. 

No one to see the cold, clenched hands, 
Wrung in a pain that will not cease ; 
No one to question misery's sway, 
Draining from out my life all peace. 

No one to hear the anguished wail, 

Hushed all day by a merry song; 
No one to dream that my life's calm sea 
Holds in its depths a shade of wrong. 

But for a moment pause and scan : 

Am I alone in this sacred bower ? 
Yonder are eyes that never close, 

E'en in the hush of the midnight hour. 

There on my mantel, sternly sad, 
Statuesque in its grim repose, 

Is the pictured face of the only one 
Holding the key to my deepest woes. 



68 A PICTURE. 

Eyes of that deep, dark shade of blue, 
That in themselves a magnet hold ; 

Head like an ancient Grecian god, 
Lips of a firm yet tender mold. 

Something there is which I cannot tell. 
In the expressions mingled there ; 

Pain inscribed on the broad, white brow, 
Under the waves of pale brown hair. 

Something there is in the boyish face, 
Telling of wrongs that few may know ; 

That in the sad and tender mouth, 
Telling of long-secreted woe. 

Well, my own, have we played our parts ? 

Smiled to the world and in silence borne ? 
Gathered the crimson rose of love. 

Feeling the while its secret thorn ? 

Watch me then from your gilded frame ; 

Follow my steps with haunting eyes. 
Memory slumbers, but, oh ! its ghosts 

Come with a semblance that never dies. 



VICTOR V. 69 



Uictory. 



I am reading again the record of years, 

In a dear little book I keep ; 
Some pages there are that make me smile, 

But more that make me weep. 
Back to a far-off New Year's eve. 

In the village chapel, amid the throng, 
Thrilled by the strange and solemn scene, 

Joining the while in a sacred song. 

Scanning each face, as another comes 

To watch the old year fade away, 
Just as some hearts, so gay that night. 

Since then have yielded to decay. 
One face, that night seen for the first, 

Makes in time's chain the strongest Hnk. 
It binds to-day with that New Year's eve, 

Of which I fain would never think. 

The face that has haunted my every hour, 

And filled my heart with vain regret, 
That God had not hushed my breath for aye, 

Before that eve when first we met. 
Again I hear the sleighing song, 

As the merry parties pass our door ; 
I can hear again the low, sweet waltz. 

And the tread of feet on the ball-room floor. 



70 VICTOR Y. 

Ah me ! the happiest of our band 

Is lying to-night in her last long sleep, 
While husband bereft and mother dear, 

And little orphan children weep. 
And he whom my heart called prince that night, 

I could meet to-day a friend of the past ; 
The power o'er self, I've sought so long 

In bitter pain, is mine at last. 

I could meet him now as once I met, 

A brother who from our home had strayed ; 
Unmindful that in the gloomy past, 

My greatest grief he might have stayed. 
For another love has filled my heart, 

A love for purer, nobler things; 
A love that pain can never blight, 

And peace to my wakening spirit brings. 

This love for a great art God has given, 

To fill my life with grander aim ; 
And could I change for all earth holds. 

This new, sweet gift I still would claim. 
The past yet throws its spell o'er me, 

And will follow me on through change and 
time. 
But I'd say farewell without regret. 

Should we meet to part some time. 



/ CANNOT SA V GOOD-NIGHT. 71 



T Cannot Say Gcod-Higbt 

I cannot say good-night ; 

I wish to say farewell ; 
Why do you make the task so hard, 

When you, too, see 'tis well ? 

'Tis better we should part in pain, 
Than that we live to see the day 

When each could wish the other one 
A hundred thousand miles away. 

And such a time will surely come, 
For love like ours can never last. 

'Tis only like the summer's bloom, 
That dies before the winter's blast. 

So clasp my hand in kind farewell, 

Come, be a man, and say good-bye. 

I drop your memory from this hour, 
Unless you hush that sobbing sigh. 

Could it be you I deemed so strong, 
And thought myself a woman weak ? 

To-night I calmly bid you go, 

While you stand like a child and weep. 



72 / CANNOT SAY GOOD-NIGHT. 

My love is waning soon, you say ; 

And you speak truth, for it is dead ; 
The man who thus could lose his pride, 

On ray lone life no joy could shed. 

For pride and honor, jewels rare, 

The choicest gifts bestowed on man. 

Are more to me than high estate, 
In him I hope to yield my hand. 

Ah ! now you show your weakest point ; 

You ask me what I can bestow 
Upon the man I am to wed. 

Well, I will tell, that you may know. 

I yield a gem more precious far, 
Than any you or he may claim ; 

A heart unstained by passions dark — 
A woman's free, untarnished name. 

But fie ! I waste my time and words. 

Good-bye, poor, weak excuse for man. 
Remember you with pity deep 

I may; respect, I never can. 



A T LAST. 73 



JW Cast. 



Scorn me not because I love you ; 

'Tis no wish of mine 
That my eyeHds droop and quiver 

When your gaze meets mine. 

Do not sneer because I falter 

When, upon the street, 
We, with vacant looks, like strangers 

Almost daily meet. 

Do not smile in cold derision 
At my cheeks aflame. 
When my soul your eyes are searching- 
I am not to blame. 

Do you deem me less a woman 

If I give, unsought, 
Love that with the keenest anguish 

Your disdain has brought ? 

Can you loathe more than the giver 
The gift you will not claim ? 

Can you dip beneath the surface 
To my heart's deep shame ? 



74 AT LAST. 

When the clods have loosely fallen 

O'er my narrow bed, 
And the pain has gone forever 

From my throbbing head ; 

When the death-dew cools the burning 

Of my fevered brow, 
Will you hold me less in error 

Than you hold me now ? 

Will you think, while yet condemning, 

Of my hopeless strife, 
To uproot this love that conquered 

Pride more dear than life ? 

Will you ever know how vainly 

I have sought to shield 
From my dearest friends the secret 

I was forced to yield ? 

Will you drop in late, vain sorrow 

But one pearly tear ? 
Darling, will you hold my memory 

E'en a little dear ? 

Fare-thee-well ; I would not blame thee 

For the work of fate. 
But, I beg thee, yield thy pity 

Rather than thy hate. 



BONDS. 75 



Bonds. 



Ah me ! it was only a dream , 

But all was as vivid to me 
As the ships that are sailing to-day 

On yon dark and fathomless sea. 

My palace was changed to a cot, 

The ivy environed the door ; 
I could hear the young children at play, 

And my mother's sweet singing once more. 

I crept as of yore to her side ; 

I laid my tired head on her breast ; 
I kissed the sweet, innocent face 

Of the babe she was hushing to rest. 

She laid her cool hand on my head, 

And called me her own beloved child. 

Oh God! when I wakened again. 
Reality near drove me wild. 

The walls of my prison-like home. 

Were round me like symbols of doom ; 

And I felt that the freedom I craved. 

Could only be reached through the tomb. 



76 BONDS. 

They sold me ; and honor must shield 
The heart that cries out at its fate ; 

For I swore I would honor and love 
A man who through all I must hate. 

For he holds me a beautiful toy, 

To fondle or spurn at his will ; 
Nor sees that a woman's stern pride, 

Revolts and will never be still. 

Oh ! man with your coffers of gold. 
Your carriages, servants and halls, 

Take back both your wealth and proud name, 
And give me the poor whitewashed walls 

Of my own little home by the sea ; 

The birds and my loved mother's song, 
And he whom you robbed on the day 
That you did me such terrible wrong. 

Sir Ronald, you knew on the hour. 

When you made me unwilling your bride, 

That my whole heart went out from your home, 
In a passionate, pitiful tide. 

You knew, when you held my cold hand. 
And in courtesy kissed my pale brow, 
That the touch of your lips was a sting — 
The lips I am forced to kiss now. 



TAKE WHAT IS GIVEN. 7 ^ 

And every caress that you give, 

And I can but answer with hate, 
Is only a bruise from the chain 

Of a pitiless, horrorsome fate. 

Oh ! give me the freedom I ask ! 

Let me go to my mother's poor cot; 
And the woe you have caused me will be 

In the joys of releasement forgot. 



take Wi^x T$ m^XK. 

Who saj^s this world is a farce? 

That the hearts are all untrue ? 
That each fate holds a curse, 

And life is a he all through ? 

Who scoffs at an earnest word, 

Refuses a friendly hand ? 
Who says that the genial heart 
Bears on it the traitor's brand ? 

Who bitterly turns from men. 

Refusing the help they'd give ? 

Proclaiming his wish to be free 
From those who in unity live ? 



78 TAKE WHA T IS GIVEN. 

Who calls the word Friendship a myth, — 
Declares that a friend he ne'er claimed, — 

Is a man with a poor narrow soul, 

And heart that has darkly been maimed. 

The world has its briars for all ; 

Has footpaths that mangle our feet ; 
But on the rough journey through life. 

How many stout hearts we may meet 

Who offer the best they can give, 

With words that will cheer us along, 
Till, saved from the depths of despair, 
Our poor, fainting souls will grow strong ! 

Again we will draw far apart 

From those who are noble and true, 

And bow, in our paltry desire, 

To Mammon's cold, much-favored few. 

We pass by the hand that would help. 
And clasp firm the cold, jeweled lie ; 

Then turn and denounce our sad fate. 
With petty complaining, and why ? 

Because in our own congealed hearts 
We drive from us all that is good. 

We spurn what is lovely, yet feel 

That God has not dealt as he should. 



TRANSPLANTED. 79 

We call life a pitiless sham, 

Not dreaming that we make it so; 

Refusing the sweets that it holds, 
While jealously guarding its woe. 



transplanted. 

A frail little blossom once grew, 

Alone in a peopleless land, 
And no one its prettiness knew. 

But the Maker, by whom it was planned. 

So modestly drooped its fair head. 

And so sweet was the fragrance it bore, 

That a venturesome trav'ler who chanced 
To wander afar from the shore, 

Drew near, and bent low o'er its bed ; 

Then, deeming it desolate there. 
He bore it away to his home, 

To twine in his fair daughter's hair. 

The desert, though drear, was its home, 

And soon it had faded away. 
The grandeur and pride, new and cold. 

The pure, gentle blossom did slay. 



8o FAREWELL. 



Tarcwdl 



Farewell, thou friend of many years, 
A friend ere I within my heart 

Had learned to know you as you were. 
Forever more on earth we part. 

Good-bye ; and think sometimes of her 
Who strove by friendship's lures to win 

The promise of a nobler life 

From you who chose the paths of sin. 

Think of the night I pled in vain, 
With only God and you to hear. 

Recall your bitter, angry words, 

That filled my soul with nameless fear. 

You never knew that, standing there, 
Beneath the star-lit dome of heaven, 

My heart went out in one long prayer 

That all your sins might be forgiven ; — 

A prayer that your great, manly heart, 
Might learn around the cross to twine. 

And rise to its own grand estate, 

Nor cast its pearls before the swine. 



PLEADING. 8 1 

And since that night, so long ago, 
My eyes have never closed in sleep 

Ere I have begged the Mighty One 
A vigil o'er your steps to keep. 

Farewell, the past is all forgiven, 

For then to reason you were blind. 

But now, at last, the clouds are riven, 

And we may leave their shades behind. 



Up from the depths of a troubled heart 
There came the anguished cry, 
'* Oh God! if mercy Thou canst show, 
Spare me my erring boy. 

'' His young feet ever trod the paths 
Of honor, truth and right, 
Till rum's foul demon has blotted out 
His reason's holy light. 

" He was my all, this erring son, 
I asked no greater bliss 
Than when at evening he came home 
To have his loving kiss. 



PLEADING. 

'^ But, oh ! one night, I'll ne'er forget, 
He came with bloodshot eyes, 
And step that made my frightened heart 
Throb quick in pained surprise. 

'* He groped, when at the vine- wreathed door. 
Like one in horrid dream ; 
His look when I cried, 'Oh, my son !' 
Was but a drunkard's gleam. 

" Since that sad night his loosened tongue 
Has let such language flow, 
That until death removes the sting 
Its pain my heart will know. 

'* Oh, I have pled and prayed with him, 
As only mothers can ; 
But all my pleadings are in vain. 
A fiend o'erpowers the man. 

'* Once in the solemn hour of night. 
He wakened from his shame. 
And murmured, 'Oh, forgive your son,' 
And did not ask in vain. 

" Thou Father of the orphaned child 
And widowed wife as well, 
Oh God ! I pray Thee pluck my boy 
From out the drunkard's hell. 



TRIBUTE TO LILLIE QUINN. 83 

*' Hark ! 'tis his heavy step I hear, 
My prodigal's come home; 
Oh, give me strength my woe to bear ! 
Oh, help him to atone !" 



tribute to Cillie Quinn. 

Asleep in her velvet casket, 

With hands crossed on her breast, 
My friend and companion from childhood 

Is taking her last long rest. 
So quiet in her dreamless slumber, 

With face so cold and white ; 
Yet death has lent a radiance, 

Aglow from heaven's light. 

Around her a stricken household — 

Parents with aching heart. 
And he who would soon have claimed her. 

But 'twas meet that they should part. 
And we who were her classmates, 

In the happy years long gone, 
Shall hold in our hearts the memory 

That her noble worth has won. 



84 TRIBUTE TO LILLIE QUINN. 

We stand and gaze in sorrow, 
At the work of one short year, 

But can offer only the tribute 
Of an earnest, heartfelt tear. 

In her hand she holds white lilies, 
• And we murmur, "Lillie," her name. 

And think as we view the stainless flowers, 
That her life and they were the same. 

Could we but see the victory 

Of the cold and silent grave, 
As He who died on Calvary, 

Our erring souls to save ! 
To those poor, stricken parents. 

Could this thought but bring relief! 
Could it hush the bitter stmg of death, 

And quiet their hopeless grief! 

Think not that her face is hidden 

Forever from our sight ; 
We'll meet again around the throne, 

Where reigns eternal light. 
Farewell, dear friend, we'll meet you. 

When our Father calls us home, 
Where no heart knoweth sorrow. 

And mourning cannot come. 



THE DESER TED HEAR TH. 85 

the Deserted Reartb. 

IX MEMORY OF MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

The rain is pouring in torrents 
On the'many-gabled roof, 
As back from the past my thoughts sweep on, 
For I find a change in the dear old home. 
Though the giant oaks that shade the door 
Sway their branches as before. 
Yet I'm alone, alone. 

After the lapse of many years, 
My wanderings bring me back 
To the hearth where I spent my childhood hours, 
And sweet remembrance has its powers 
That cluster 'round me, and whisper low, 
Of joyous days in the long ago, 
And I'm alone, alone. 

In fancy I see the picture. 
Of a circle around the hearth; 
And I kneel at the feet of a gray-haired sire, 
As he tells of his youth and adventures dire ; 
And my mother's kind face is lit with love, 
But she dwells to-day in her home above. 
And I'm alone, alone. 



86 THE DESERTED HEARTH. 

Where are the stalwart brothers, 
Who sat by my side of yore ? 
One sleeps to-day in a far-off grave, 
Where he won his croAvn with the many brave ; 
Another rests in the waters deep, 
Where the wild sea gulls their watches keep, 
And I'm alone, alone. 

When the flames of that awful burning 
Swept all within their reach. 
One had returned from the battlefield, 
His life to a far worse fate to yield ; 
He was not all the Fire King claimed ; 
Father and sister were in his chains, 
And I'm alone, alone. 

Another, the dearest one to me, 
Willie, my playmate from youth's first hours. 
Sickened and died, though to keep him here, 
I'd yield my life without a tear ; 
But the Death Angel flapped his wings at night. 
And they bore him away from our home and 
sight. 

And I'm alone, alone. 



ONE WOMAN. 87 

Good-bye, old home, with memories fraught, 
That will ever shadow my future lot ; 
For though livmg still are friends most dear, 
Their homes are scattered far and near. 
They who claimed one happy home. 
Each in their separate sphere must roam. 
And I'm alone, alone. 



One lUcmam 

Who is that stern-faced woman. 

With brow so cold and white, 
And eyes, though large and briUiant, 

That wear no happy Hght ? 
She is one who has trod life's journey, 

Through the thorny paths alone ; 
And whose Hps Hke sculptured marble 

Are too proud to utter moan. 

In days of cloudless girlhood, 

The face you deem so cold 
Was bright with joy as the evening sky. 

When lit with shimmering gold. 
Caressed m the bounteous lap of wealth, 

Admired by honored men. 
She smiles her patient, hapless smile, 

And quietly whispers, ''Thus it ends." 



88 ONE WOMAN. 

You ask the story of her Ufe, 

And when I answer smile in scorn ; 
Retorting in your empty way : 

" This woman to the manor born, 
This prudish, haughty — well, 'old maid,' 

A happy household's petted one. 
Because she truly loved, but lost. 

Elects to finish life alone ?" 

Oh, thoughtless, happy school-girl, 

If your life proves as great, 
When your toil is o'er, and you enter in 

With the few at the pearly gate. 
You'll have won a crown, few women win, 

By laying your heart at a single shrine. 
Tested and true to the very last, 

Loyal still, at the end of time. 



A LEGEND. 89 



The wind is howling fiercely 

Around the casde wall ; 
A night of storm and darkness, 

Has spread its dreaded pall, 
When through the murky blackness 

A mellow light gleams clear. 
Sir Arthur checks his noble steed, 

And shouts to Stanwick near : 
'' Hold! we have reached the castle, 

The home of my lovely bride ; 
She who at morn will yield her hand, 

To be my joy, my pride." 
The stern, dark knight thus hailed stopped short 

And turned his steed about, 
And clear on the driven winds of night. 

His clarion voice rang out : 
'* Yes, we have reached the castle^ 

The home of Maud DuGart ; 
But you shall never see her face 

Or press her to your heart ; 
You won her from my very arms ; 

She broke a vow to me ; 
And for this one false deed of hers, 

Your bride she shall not be." 



90 A LEGEND, 

" You say she broke a vow to you ," 

Sir Arthur, frenzied, cried, 
'' And though my Hfe the forfeit pays, 

When you thus spake, you Hed." 
Clear on the still night air was heard 

The clash of sword and knife, 
Until the young lord prostrate fell, 

And yielded up his life. 
Then kneeling by his side young Stan wick 

Grasped his cold and stiffening hand, 
And cried, "Oh, God! what have I done? 

I've murdered him, my friend. 
He who since boyhood's earliest hours, 

Was ever ready at my side, 
True and firm in weal or woe, 

My reckless waywardness to chide. 
This for a woman, false as hell — 

She who has made us each her dupe, 
He has escaped her toils; 'tis well. 

She is not one to fade or droop. 
But can I walk upright through life 

With Cain's red mark upon my hand ? 
Is there no spot where I may flee. 

To hide my sin, in all the land ?" 

" This is my bridal morn," quoth Maud. 

" Once again 'neaththe old elm's shade 



A LEGEND, 91 

I'll roam in my freedom for an hour, 

Ere Sir Arthur's bride I'm made." 
Gaily she trips adown the lawn. 

Singing she enters the forest glade ; 
Why does she stop and shriek aloud ? 

Why is her brow such a ghastly shade ? 
There at the foot of the old elm tree, 

With deep, red gashes in his head, 
His curly locks all wet with gore, 

She sees her lover lying dead; 
And Stanwick lying by his side. 

His own sword driven through his breast. 
His handsome face in pale repose. 

Would seem to speak of only — rest . 
There the old lord found his child 

Kneeling dumbly by her dead. 
From her lips came forth no moan — 

Reason had forever fled. 
Long he tried to gain from her 

Some clue to this awful deed ; 
But all efforts proved in vain, 

Maud could no more hear or heed. 

Years have passed away since then. 

Old and feebled now by time, 
Maud DuGart still roams about, 

Whispering madly, '"Twas my crime !" 



92 A LEGEND. 

Through the lofty halls where once 

She reigned, her father's idol fair, 
She wanders now a poor, lone thing. 

In her eyes a frenzied stare. 
Oft at night from windows high, 

Her spectral form a passer sees, 
With hands uplifted as in prayer, 

Crouching humbly on her knees. 
Low she bows her flaxen head, 

Murmuring from time to time, 
" Save him, God, and punish me — 

I who tempted, mine's the crime !" 
All alone she dwells within 

The ruins of that castle old, 
This her prayer from day to day. 

Could a sadder fate be told ? 



FRIENDSHIP. 93 



Oh, Friendship, what are thou? 

A theme for the pen ; 
A mask under which many dark deeds are done; 
A sentiment that is not given to men ; 
And though a delusion, your name shall be sung, 

Be cherished and sought for, 

Through ages to come ; 
Be tested, found wanting, and cast back in pain 
On the smiling-faced donor, who'll use thee again 
To dupe each new victim, and so to the end. 

Ah ! Plato, thy God spent his reign here in vain. 
For friendship is now nothing more than a name, 
That lives in the minds of the fanciful youth. 
Who yet has to learn the great value of truth. 



94 ^^^ EMPTY LIFE. 

Hn empty Eife. 

He's termed a man, this creature, 

With form so full of grace ; 
But is the soul of noble truth 
Imprinted on his face ? 
Look 'neath the guise of polished ease. 
Think you he tries his God to please ? 

'Tis true he saunters like a prince, 

Adown the street, with cane in hand, 
And meets a lady with a bow most perfect, 
And a smile most bland. 
But would he cheer the hungry wretch, 
Or helping hand to him outstretch ? 

Ah, yes ! he does the Newport, 

Is lion of the ball ; 
Eyes lower 'neath his ardent glance, 
But tell me, is this all ? 
Can you recall one kindly act ? 
No, not with all your boasted tact. 

His honor is his constant boast, 

But put him to the test. 
Place him where he must be himself 
Then you can judge him best ; 
For 'neath the crest of empty pride, 
He tries his arrogance to hide. 



LOOK BELOW. 95 

Just give his vanity a sting, 

And note the smothered spleen, 
That even through his candor, 
At such a time is seen ; 
For though he Hves beneath a mask 
Assuming sometimes proves a task. 

Down with him ! He's a craven rogue — 

A perfect Hving he ; 
And those who seek for honest worth, 
Should from such vipers fly, 
Or seek the felon in his cell, 
Rather than with an Arnold dwell. 



Cook Below, 

The shallow surface-streams of life, 

Will meet our deep needs never, 
But in the calm, unfathomed sea, 

We leave our purest treasure. 
We grasp at that which seems a joy ; 

But lo ! when we secure it, 
We find to our own bitter cost. 

Our hearts cannot endure it. 



96 THE HAR VEST'S BLIGHT. 

Cl)c Rarvesf $ Bligbt 

Each season has its fullness ; 

Each rose its perfect bloom ; 
Each life its time of joy complete, 

That leaves an after gloom. 
For never more to the wakening heart 

Will the same sweet seraphs sing ; 
The rose has lost its perfect scent, 

And life's repose has taken wing. 

Henceforth all things are incomplete ; 

The zest of happiness is gone ; 
What we have sought with ardent strife, 

Is stale and valueless when won. 
We search in vain for that sweet peace 

That leaves no room for vain regret ; 
But find since then the hand of Fate 

Has traced dark lines we can't forget. 

We wander here and there in quest 

Of what this life but once can give ; 
And famished soon we feed withal 

Upon the husks, that we may live. 
We do not know, but we may feel, 

That God decrees this for the best ; 
It would not meet His plan of Hfe, 

If we should here find perfect rest. 



THE HARVEST'S BLIGHT. 97 

I know my life is incomplete, 

My aspirations doomed to die ; 
I can but live to see them bud, 

For ere they bloom I'll lowly lie 
Where earthly cares and woes find rest, 

And weary hands shall cease to toil, 
And aching hearts are hushed for aye, 

Far from this busy world's turmoil. 

At times I hope an hour may come 

When life will hold some joy for me ; 
When from the pain of other years 

My thoughts will once again be free. 
But that which to all other hearts 

Would bring the truest happiness, 
To me is but a transient ray, 

And fails my clouded life to bless. 

And will it cost me keen regret 

To know that I have striven in vain ? 
To see my sun that rose so bright 

In cloudy glories wane ? 
Or shall I fold my hands and rest, 

Hoping, when I have journeyed on, 
To find the jewel lost on earth, 

And know at last the victory's won ? 



98 SANS DIEU RIEN. 

$an$ Dteu Rien. 

Live we alone in a desert land, 

Where the foot of man before never trod, 
With sky and sand and scorching heat, 

We are yet in the hands of a mighty God. 
With His wondrous force of strength and will, 

He ever makes His presence known ; 
And never e'en in the darkest hour, 

Can we feel that we're alone. 

To the heart of the little prattling babe, 

He imparts that sweet, inspiring love 
That parts its rosy lips with smiles, 

In dreams of heavenly realms above. 
And hope, though at times in us it errs. 

While it cheers and guides our feeble will. 
Is a soothing balm from His loving hands, 

Life's keenest pain to heal and still. 

When we turn from earth and its empty husks, 

Famished for food that will ease our heart. 
Keenly longing for nobler things, 

We know we are cheated in life's mart. 
But with Him we find no hope deferred, 

No cherished wishes unfulfilled ; 
Although at times misfortunes dire, 

In our blind eyes, come at His will. 



MY BABY. 99 

When the little barque of our earthly hope 

Is drowned in the darkest gulf, despair, 
He will receive us, though we strayed 

With willing hearts from His loving care. 
Hail, glorious Prince of Heaven's throne, 

The One to ransom us Who died ! 
Thy name be praised each day, each hour; 

Thy life, Thy presence, glorified. 



my Baby. 

With tiny hands clasped on his breast, 

My babe within his cradle lies. 
Asleep ? Ah, no; his pure young soul 
Is holding converse sweet 

With seraphs in the land beyond the skies. 

His rosy lips are parted in a happy smile ; 

His bright, young face is all aglow with joy. 
Hark! in his jubilance of mirth, 
That only meets its fullness in such hours, 

I hear him laugh aloud — my babe, my boy ! 



loo MY BABY. 

And now he wakens, and his wondering eyes 
Are gazing in my own, a thrilling light 

Within their liquid azure depths, 

That mirror the pure land of joy, 

While tears start and obscure him from my sight. 

He nestles closer to my bosom warm with love; 

The touch of his wee hand fills ever)'' sense 
With knowledge of an undivided love 
For me within his infant breast. 

That for all care is fullest recompense. 

My slumber breaks. Oh God ! 'tis all a dream — 
No baby head is resting on my breast, 

Not in his Httle cot, nor yet my arms, 

Which seem to hold him still. 

But in his coffin he is laid away to rest. 

Quivering with woe so deep that none may feel 
But they who once have known a mother's love 

For a sweet, prattling child 

Snatched from their arms away 

To join the band of seraphs up above, 

I closed my eyes and sought in vain for rest ; 

My baby's arms were clinging to me still. 
Again that all-o'erpowering sense of love 
For what was all my own. 

My heart, my Hfe, all faculties did fill. 



AT THE PORTALS. loi 

The denseness of the gloom of darkest night 
Was no more dark than my despair, 

As to the silent city of the dead 

I trod in thought the lonely way, 

And sought the mound that held my darling there. 

The morning came, and through my lonely hours 
I trod again each silent, cheerless room ; 

And voices whispered from another sphere, 

In tones of loved ones gone before. 

That rest could reach me only through the tomb. 

Jan. 4th, 1889. 



Jit tbe Portals. 

Lying here in my chamber. 

With a solemn hush o'er all. 
That makes my life and the whole great world 

Seem shadowed by death's dark pall, 
I am thinking, Will they miss me, 

When this hopeless strife is o'er, 
And I'm carried forth in solemn state. 

To enter, never more ? 



102 AT THE PORTALS. 

When the hands they press each morn and night 

Are stiffened in death's tight clasp, 
And the eyes and Hps that smiled to each 

Have uttered farewell at last, 
Will they search my little treasures, 

And each find something there — 
A bit of lace, or book I loved. 

Or glove I used to wear ? 

And at night, when they assemble 

In the dear old room below, 
Where once I joined their happy band. 

But nevermore may go, 
Will each of their fond hearts sadden 

At thought of my narrow bier ? 
Will they shed a tear for my young life checked, 

Or the parting I feel is near ? 

Oh, friends, how hard to say farewell 

When life on earth is o'er. 
And we are called, though we long to stay 

With those we may meet no more ! 
But even now my sight grows dim. 

And your voices sound far aAvay. 
I would Imger with you a little while, 

But death's summons I must obey. 



GOOD-BYE. 103 

Farewell, dear ones, who are far away 

In your different spheres in life. 
Think of the happy hours we've spent 

When the world for me was bright. 
For gazing down from my home above 

At your scenes of greatest joy, 
With eyes from whence the veil has dropped, 

I'll see the world's alloy. 



6ooa-Byc. 

Good-bye, dear friend ; 
May thoughts of other years 

Upon your happy future shine ; 
And may I claim in memory's mystic chain 

One link, when you are in a distant clime. 



104 BE GAY WHILE YOU MAY. 

Be 6ay Ulbilc Vou Itlay* 

Oh, do not sit down and repine 

O'er each Httle, trifling vexation ; 
For it never is well to complain 

Over troubles of your own creation. 
But learn to take all for the best, 

Though often you feel like rebelling ; 
And bear in calm silence your pain. 

For sorrow's not lessened by telling. 

We may brood over some little thing 

That was not worth a thought at its best, 
Until tortured so sorely in mind 

We soon will know nothing of rest. 
Why murmur at sorrows that come 

From a Hand of Omnipotent Power ? 
A Hand that could crush all our hopes 

And strip life of joy in an hour ? 

It is useless to grumble at Fate, 

For we cannot change its decree : 
Nor does it e'er pause in its wonderful work, 

To be guided by you or by me. 
It is well to in silence contend 

With misfortunes that we cannot cure ; 
And those with an effort which we can amend 

It is foolish for us to endure. 



SEVERED. 105 

There's an old proverb deep in my mind, 

Beyond reach of memory's light, 
And this is its purport in short : 

" Deep pain is best buried from sight." 
There are none who are free from their woes ; 

Each life has its burden to bear ; 
Think not that the rich and the great 

Have any less sorrow and care. 

It is idle to waste our best hours 

In useless complaints at our lot ; 
Life's joys are as great as its woes, 

So, then, let all cares be forgot. 
When the sun in the spring of our lives 

Irradiates all with its gleams, 
Let us bask in its warmth for the while, 

And mingle our smiles with its beams. 

We stood that night on the dear old porch, 

With the pitiless stars above, 
And our hearts were filled with bitter pain; 

We must part and still must love. 
And why, we ask from our depth of grief, 

Must life be so decreed ? 
Ah, we ourselves have tempted Fate, 

And with God we cannot plead. 



io6 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 

My friend, for friend you must ever be, 

Go back to that hour of pain ; 
And think if you could recall the past, 

Would you suffer and love in vain ? 
Would you give your purest and truest love 

To one with a saddened past ? 
To one whose whole pure woman's heart 

Was shattered in life's fierce blast ? 

Would you cling to a hope that must wither. 

To a hand already pledged ? 
To lips that have uttered words so false 
That all peace from her life has fled ? 
I can only ask with an aching heart 

This one last boon : forgive. 
I will be your friend in word and deed 

As long as we both shall live. 



tbc maid of Orleans. 

Afar on the sunny hills of France, 

With sky like a pale blue silken shade, 

And winds like the breath of sweetest flowers, 
Once lived this lowly peasant maid. 



THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 107 

Lowly in name and young in years, 
The child of obscurest parentage, 

Yet chosen, in a mysterious way, 

War with a mighty power to wage. 

Deep in the valley's calm retreat, 
Her flock of sheep her only care, 

She little dreams of the crown of fame 
Her humble name so soon shall wear. 

For Lo ! A voice in stranger tone 

Speaks in words of grave command : 
*' Joan of Arc, come forth and wield 

A victor's sword for thy stricken land. 

" They, the brave, have striven long 
Oppressive tyrants to withstand ; 
Fought, like brave men, long and well, 
And now we ask it at your hand." 

Then all the slumbering germs of power 
In her young heart and brain awoke. 

And bravely yielding to her fate, 

She plunged into the batde's smoke. 

And next we see her childish form 
Well mounted on a warrior's steed ; 

Her heavy armor cuts the flesh 

And makes her quivering shoulders bleed. 



io8 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 

She pushes bravely to the front, 

Cheers and inspires the weak with hope ; 
A woman, yet no single man 

In battle's storm with her can cope. 

A woman, and wise men have said, 

That "woman's kingdom is her home ;" 

Yet France to-day might be in chains, 
But for the crown a woman won. 

Oh, beautiful, fearless peasant girl ! 

More noble prince ne'er graced the earth ; 
No mother's pride more just than hers 

In thatch-roofed cot who gave thee birth. 

And you, too, number with the few 

'* Whose names were never born to die;" 

Though centuries have rolled away 

Since your young form did coffined lie. 

Napoleon's name has long been sung, 
Although he died a convict slave ; 

Must you, because a woman, rest 
Forgotten in your holy grave ? 



TO THE FALSE FRIEND OF M V VO UTH. 109 

Co tbc TaUe Tricnd of my Voutb. 

Since girlhood's earliest, happiest hours, 
I've shared my little joys and woes, 

And strayed at peaceful eventide, 

With my companion at my side. 

I knew no sorrow; felt no pain. 

Oh, could those hours return again ! 

I would have deemed it grossest wrong 

Had I retained one single thought 

From her I loved with all my heart ; 
And had I known how we must part, 
'Tis true the anguish of such thought, 
My young life's keenest pain had wrought. 

How well I mind me of the day 

My mother met me at the door 

And said that she, my best loved one. 
Had asked that I in haste would come. 
For ere that autumn day was o'er. 
Her sweet young life would be no more. 

A fatal fever's withering blight 
Had stamped her with its hand; 

And though all plead with me to stay, 

Lest I, too, yielded as its prey, 

I broke from them and wildly fled. 

And soon was kneeling by her bed. 



no TO THE FALSE FRIEND OF M V YO UTH. 

Though years and years have passed since then, 
And I have tasted sorrow's dregs, 

So vivid is that hour of pain, 

That now I hve it o'er again ; 

And it has left upon my heart 

A scar that never will depart. 

Ah, would to heaven that she had died 

While yet too pure to nourish wrong; 

Ere she had shadowed my young life, 
That in the past had all been rife 
With faith and peace and love for all. 
Nor filled with Doubt's most bitter gall. 

In after years I sadly learned 

To think of her as worse than dead ; 

She whom through all with love I'd wreathed, 

Yet while I trusted she deceived. 

To her my whole young heart was borne. 

In it she left the keenest thorn. 

E'en now I'm pleading with myself, 

To blame the world for her deceit. 
I ask my heart to yet reclaim, 
And make youth's idol whole again. 
But ah ! the worm has gnawed too long 
The bud I hoped to shield from wrong. 



TO THE FALSE FRIEISfD OF M V YD UTH. 1 1 1 

" What was thy wrong," you question me, 
"That holds dark place in memory yet ?" 
Have you, then, never been betrayed 
By one who to your life you'd made 
Accessory in all things good, 
Who by your side since youth had stood ? 

Men deem that women cannot love 
Each other with unselfish hearts. 

But never yet has any man 

Made of my life a darksome plan, 

As she who in my early youth 

Had proved that she was lost to truth. 

And they who have the power to bring 

The darkest shadows o'er our lives, 

Can claim the greater share the while 
Within the hearts that they beguile. 
With deep-planned sophistries they gain 
A love, though pure, that leaves a stain. 

Oh, you, who early learned to fill 

All hearts with love's most potent spell, 

Why thus debase the boon ? 'Twas given, 

A noble gift to thee, from heaven : 

It might have wrought your dearest bliss, 

Btat you have wielded it amiss. 



112 LOST GEMS. 

£o$t Gems. 

There are beautiful thoughts that are never expressed, 

There are words that are never spoken, 
That might hold in its casket the sinking soul, 

Ere the poor spent heart is broken. 
There are glances of love that are thrilling us yet, 

And a clasp of the hand that is cherished, 
When the coffin lid covers the pulseless heart 

Of one whom we loved that has perished. 

There are white lids closed over aching eyes, 

To prison the tears that are welling ; 
There are red lips wearing the sweetest smiles, 

While a thorn in the heart is dwelling. 
There are young heads bowed to hide their pain. 

And deep drawn sighs that are smothered ; 
There are are wails of woe in the sweetest notes, 

That a merry laugh has covered. 

There are low good-byes that pierce the heart, 

While the face wears a mask of seeming ; 
There are cold hands clenched in secret pain. 

Leaving scars where jewels are gleaming. 
There are forms tight clasped in the mazy dance, 

Whose nerves are strained to rending, 
While the honeyed speech and the brilliant jest 

With the heart's deep moans are blending. 



THE DARKEST PAGE. 113 

And we're toiling on in our separate paths, 

" Each bearing our burden of sorrow," 
We are wading each day through a deluge of tears ; 

For from each life a shadow we borrow. 
Oh, God ! You are grinding my heart to dust, 

And drawing the life blood from it. 
While demons enter and angels depart. 

You are carving fate's letters upon it. 



Cbe Darkest Page. 

Yes, turn down that leaf, 'tis the one has blighted 
A once happy life, 'till its dark shadows came, 

With sorrows and wrongs that can never be righted, 
Though the cold tide of life seems to flow on the 
same. 

And the poor, weary wife with her numberless bur- 
dens. 
Stifles back the great tears that unbidden will fall. 
While she tries to forget the harsh words rudely 
spoken, 
That will rankle and burn till she sleeps 'neath 
her pall. 



114 THE DARKEST PAGE. 

Oh, husbands whose hearts seem congealed by life's 
sorrows, 
Remember the brides that you once held so dear ; 
Who for years as your wives have toiled on uncom- 
plaining. 
You were once their brave knights; they now 
hold you in fear. 

When at last their mute lips in death's silence accuse 
you, 
And their hands cold in death you caress the last 
time, 
You'll hunger in vain, though you know you're for- 
given ; 
The love you once scorned will have found its 
true shrine. 



WE'LL MEET NO MORE. 115 

me* 11 meet Ho more. 

Do you remember — ah, could you forget? — 

The night I said that we should meet no more, 

When hope, that I had made my dearest treasure 
In my fast-fleeting life, was o'er? 

You smiled, and in your quiet manner 

Dispelled the awful gloom our parting brought, 

And said, "Although it quenched my joy forever. 
It seems decreed that each must live a separate 
lot." 

And now, as darkest shadows gather round me. 
And draw me slowly to the river's brink, 

Could you but heal the heart that you have broken. 
In mercy you'd recall the past, I think. 

I know with willing hands you would not darken 
A life replete with pleasure for its store : 

And yet mine was the keen and lasting anguish, 
When knowing that our paths would cross no 
more. 

My thoughts go back to hours when first I met you. 
When down the hill toward the old school-house 
you'd come, 

To wait until the last had left the playground, 
To be my welcome escort in my journey home. 



n6 COME TO ME. 

And when we parted in the old, arched hallway, 
Promising so soon to meet at my own home, 

Some dark forewarning of my hapless future 
Began to whisper, " You're alone, alone !" 

And now my life is gliding swiftly from me, 
And I am sadly whispering o'er and o'er, 

Is there a world where we may meet our loved ones ? 
And will you know me on the other shore ? 

Farewell, my own ; may your heart never waken 
To bitter strife upon the field I lost ; 

Or drink the dregs of life's most blighting sorrow, 
To gain so little joy at such a cost ! 



€ome to me. 

Love, when thy heart is sore from its last learning 

That even truth is not what it would seem, 
When you can look far back to all you cherished 

As if the past were but an empty dream. 
Then come to me ; and I will gladly give you 

The crumbs which once you coldly threw away ; 
The faith, the trust, the ever-strong devotion. 

That from my heart did not one moment stray. 



OLD LETTERS. 117 

Old tetters. 

To-day, with the past swelling up in my heart, 

Like a mighty flood of bitter pain, 
And a dark mist covering the whole great earth, 

Whose warmth and brightness seemed to wane, 
I opened the casket you gave me. 

Where, old and stained with tears. 
Lay your bundle of precious letters. 

That I've treasured all these years. 

They were yellow and old and faded. 

But each defaced and blotted leaf 
Gave me a pang of deep remorse, 

And filled my heart with bitter grief. 
For my thoughts went back to that hapless night. 

When, deeming you what no man should be, 
I bade you never to claim the right 

Of even the merest friend to me. 

I can see your face as you turned away. 

Hurt to the depth of your proud heart's core, 
And your eyes' reproach as you coldly said, 

"Think well of this ; we'll meet no more." 
And oh, my love, since you said farewell, 

Your stern face, pale from secret strife, 
My heart has called on you in vain 

To return and cheer my lonely life. 



ii8 IN MEM OR Y OF BELLE. 

I wronged you then by my heedless faith 

In the cutting shafts of slander's tongue ; 
But you're lying now in your dreamless sleep, 

And the wrong can never be undone. 
Look down, my own, through heaven's veil. 

On my true repentance and life-long blight, 
For the wrong that I did you here below, 

There in your home will all be right. 



Tn memory of Belle. 

Gone to her last long rest so young, 

With only the burden of twenty years, 

Leaving behind such pain and loss, 
Such torrents of bitter tears. 

Leaving in each fond parent's heart ; 

A pain time cannot still ; 
And a vacant place at the shrine of home 

That the years can never fill. 

She left her flock in the old school-house 

But a few short weeks ago. 
Did they dream that the Angel of Death had come 

To bear her away ? Ah, no ! 



PITY. 119 

And the smile that illumined her sweet young face, 
When she clasped each dimpled hand, 

Will return when they meet at the throne of gold 
In the far-off, happy land. 

Oh, peace to the spirit gone to rest, 

And peace to each aching heart. 
For the one they mourn has but gone before 

To accept the grander part. 



Pity, 

Srnile on the one who has caused you keen sorrow, 
For that same heart may be broken to-morrow. 
Pity the ones who are sinning the deepest. 
Knowing that they are of all men the weakest. 
When in estrangement from friends you will sever, 
You may not know but you're parting forever. 



I20 BABY WILLIE. 

Baby Ulillie. 

Yes, the first white flakes are falling 

On your grave, 
And the withered, leafless branches 

Idly wave ; 
And your babe that may not see 

A father's face, 
In its lonely mother's heart 

Will fill your place. 

Oh, the wind is wailing sadly 

O'er your tomb; 
Why, oh why, were you thus stricken 

All too soon ? 
Had you lived to hear your baby's 

First low cry, 
We might feel that it was meet 

That you should die. 

Frail and pallid on her lonely 

Pillow now, 
With the stamp of one bereft 

Upon her brow, 
Is the wife you loved so dearly, 

Left to live alone ; 
She who bears her bitter grief 

Without a moan. 



SEVEN YEARS. 121 

Sleep in peace ; your baby slumbers 

On her breast. 
Rest, oh rest, for you are truly 

Of the blest. 
When he learns to feebly lisp 

A father's name, 
He can speak it proudly, boldly, 

Without shame. 



Seven Vears. 

Seven years you've slept so calmly 
Underneath this lonely tree ; 

Brother whom I loved so fondly, 
Would that it were /, not thee. 

Seven years ! The grass is waving 
O'er your lonely resting place; 

But to-day, as when you left me, 
I can see your earnest face. 

Earnest with a noble purpose, 
Little dreaming death so near; 

When we said farewell at parting, 
It was you who whispered cheer. 



122 SEVEN YEARS. 

" Sister, do not sink or falter, 
Enter boldly on the strife ; 
What you do, do gladly, bravely; 
Try to win the prize of hfe." 

Then my life was just beginning. 
Opened then the sterner part ; 
All the sorrows you foretold me, 
Since have fallen on my heart. 



With the coming of death's shadow, 
Your dear eyes had learned to see 

All the lonely years of anguish 
That you, dying, left to me. 



Orphaned from our early childhood. 

I had learned to look on you 
As my guide and wise director ; 
To my interests ever true. 



Oh ! my brother, you are sleeping, 
'Neath the damp mould at my feet. 

Only the green sod divides us, 
Yet we never more may meet. 



LOOK HIGHER . 123 

I have learned to tread without you 
Cherished paths we trod in twain ; 

But my life since you have left it 
Never has been free from pain. 

Oft at night I wake and call you, 
From the room across the hall, 

But the shadows whisper, " Willie !" — 
Your name answers to my call. 

Then I turn me on my pillow — 

Sleep, to dream of you again ; 
Wake at morn to stem the billows 

That each day makes dark with pain. 



took l>i8ber. 

What noble aim doth guide your life, my friend ? 

A wish to make each fate all peace and joy ? 
Or doth it to ignoble purpose bend, 

In trying all opposers to destroy ? 

Mayhap your soul is filled with grand desires, 
But failing, you may stoop to bitter hate ; 

Your heart's pure font dry up from scathing fires 
That rage as if no pain their wrath could sate. 



124 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

Oh friend ! when grief engulfs your weary soul, 
And dark despair seems clutching at your heart, 

Rise grandly up, and strive to reach the goal, 
Nor heed how dark the turbid waters part. 

God wills it that our feet shall mangled be, 

And that our heads shall bow beneath the rod. 

And yet how can we murmur, since 'twas He 
Who gave the mighty ransom of a God ? 



new Vcar*$ ev)c» 

The year is slowly drawing to a close ; 

Its shadows softly vanish, one by one ; 
And each sweet joy is whispering farewell, 

As solemnly we turn to all we've done. 

The kindly act, though very small it seemed, 
That lit with joy some sorely burdened heart ; 

The bitter word that rent a healing wound. 

And caused the tears of hidden pain to start. 

Some face that we have blanched with scornful jest 
Comes up to-night before our wistful eyes — 

A face that now is hidden in the grave, 
Unmmdful of our deep, regretful sighs. 



NEW YEAR'S EVE. 125 

And those who in our vengeful ire we've spurned, 
Because of some injustice they have done, 

Or in some cherished purpose which we held 
We failed, and in our failing they have won, 

Are here to-night, with faces stern and sad. 

They stand before us with accusing mein. 
In cold and hollow accents, hark ! they tell 

How at our hands they suffered keenest pain. 

And phantom hands clasp ours with loving clasp ; 

And smiling speak of some forgotten deed 
We did not dream would bear such noble fruit. 

Ah ! thus we reap the harvest of the seed 

We sow, as carelessly we take our way 

Along the strange and misty paths of life ; 

Not deeming all the minor acts it holds. 

Rend nations into mighty crime and strife. 

Thus grouped before us are our bygone words and 
deeds. 
With human hands they touch the chords of 
time ; 
And some bring forth deep murmurs of regret, 
And others tones of melody divine. 



126 TO EBEN E. REXFORD. 

The new year swiftly enters, and the old, 
As if at her behest, must now depart ; 

Oh, Father, g,s she passes from our grasp, 
Take with her all the errors of each heart. 

May each ignoble deed that we have done 
But turn our lives to truer, grander aim ; 

And in the end may each of us have won 

The boon of heav'n and an untarnished name. 



Co €ben e. Kexfora. 

Poet, I have read your query, 

I, a simple country lass. 
May I answer who will miss you. 

When you sleep beneath the grass ? 

Ah, the whole broad land shall miss you ; 

For the grand and noble word 
That your poet's soul has uttered 

Many a sleeping heart has stirred. 

Those who live amid seclusion, 

Far from scenes of din and strife, 

Deem you one of nature's princes, 

For you've cheered their humble life. 



LOVE AND PRIDE. 127 

You might be a Scott, a Holland; 
But to curb a wayward heart, 
I have heard you've nobly chosen 
To perform a lowly part. 

Still your words, like heaven's dew-drops. 
Bless the bourne whence they are sent. 

In the heart of prince and peasant 
They have reared your monument. 

Will you take so weak a tribute, 
Not from me, but millions more, 

Who will miss you, aye will mourn you, 
When your noble hfe is o'er ? 



Cooe ana Pride. 

You say a woman has no pride 
Who will her love make known ; 

Who meets indifference's cold frown 
With love that thus was won, 

And who through all endures the taunts 
That sharpen slander's dart, 

Without a word, without a sign, 
Who nobly does her part. 



128 INTER PRE TED. 

She makes no moan to tell the tale, 
Her friends and foes may con ; 
But in her lonely path the while 
She treads her way alone. 

While day by day, upon the street, 
She meets her lofty king, 

Whose piercing eye and set, cold voice, 
Her woman's pride do sting. 

Nay, I deny the charge you bring : 
She lives a noble part. 
It is no crime to show the world 
You have a woman's heart. 

Ttttcrpretea, 

Oh, what a beautiful glow of hght ! 
Oh, what a glorious, radiant sight ! 
Low, sweet strains to the dancer's call. 
Lo, there comes the belle of the ball, 
Passionless, pale and haughty ! 

Sweeping her gauzy robes of white, 
Who e'er saw a lovelier sight ? 
Beauty personified, elegance, grace. 
Sculptor ne'er chiseled more classical face. 
Regal, and cold, and passive. 



INTER PRE TED. 1 2 9 

Slowly she glides through the mazy dance, 
Wrapped in the spell of the ballroom trance. 
Oh, will a voice to your conscience call, 
Beautiful icicle ! belle of the ball, 

Pause in your giddy sinning ! 

He, with the form of a Hercules tall ; 
He, though the lion of parlor and hall, 
Swore his allegiance, in years that are gone, 
To the poor, pale wreck of a beautiful one, 
Alone in his home this evening — 

Lying alone in her desolate woe. 
Only a step from this splendor and show. 
The music is filling her lonely room, 
That speaks in its silence of death and the tomb, 
To which she is gladly fleeing. 

He loved her once, when the blush-rose hue 
Glowed on her cheek, and her eyes' deep blue 
Had smiled a welcome through misty tears. 
But love has flown on the wings of years, 
And left her lone and weeping. 

And out from the depths of his sin-stained hearty 
When death has played its welcome part. 
He'll turn from you in bitter shame ; 
You may not bear his tarnished name, 

E'en when the wronged is sleeping, 



I30 HAUNTED. 

A voice seems whispering in her ear, 
And she turns from him in sudden fear ; 
And the brightest smiles her red hps part, 
But a thorn is piercing her cold, proud heart, 
When he murmurs low at parting. 



I)aunted. 

Once more, amid the luring scenes 
Of a happy ballroom trance, 

I am feeling the joy in a dream 
Of the slow, bewitching dance. 

Cold fingers press my own : 

Loved eyes are turned away. 

And with a start of pain 
I wake and find 'tis day. 

But oh ! those haunting eyes. 
So filled with grave rebuke. 

Are searching still my soul. 
With concentrated look. 

Keen glances make me quail; 

I govern every tone ; 
A mask of pride will screen 

The truth from all but One — 



HAUNTED. 131 

That One for whom my heart 

Is pleading loud to-day, 
In tones so filled with woe 

That reason loses sway. 

I call up every fault 

Before my judgment's throne, 
But still in love's behalf, 

My heart stands out alone. 

And yet he gave offense 

That few would dare to give ; 
A wrong it hurts me to recall ; 

'Twill sting me while I live. 

And I have striven long 

To drive him from my heart ; 
Still in my every thought 

His image holds a part. 

I wake at dead of night. 

And start to hear my name; 
To find 'tis but a dream, 

That comes each night the same. 

To shield my secret well, 

I laugh and scoff and jest ; 
Disclaim all friendship's ties 

To him I love the best. 



132 YOUTH. 

And thus on through the years 
I'll act the petty part 

Of cheating well the world 
To shield an honest heart. 

Curse on the man who holds 
A woman's love as naught ; 

Woe for the one whose gold 

His shallow heart has bought. 



Voutb. 

Who claims that the ripeness of age 

Is of life the com.pleteness ? 
Who asks for the words of a sage 

To tell its repleteness 
In all things that wisdom bestows, 
And only maturity knows ? 
For joy in its sweetness and truth, 
We all leave behind in our youth. 



REPENTANCE. 133 



Repentance. 



Will you, my much- wronged friends, forgive ? 

Or have I sinned beyond recall ? 
Have I, by my injustice rash, 

Between us built estrangement's wall ? 

Though I well know wherein I err, 

My frailties are beyond the power 
Of my poor will to meet and slay. 
And so I've lived up to this hour 

Battling the while 'twixt right and wrong, 

Trying to curb the anger dire 
That comes unbid at slightest cause, 

And fills *my heart with vengeful fire. 

And whence, whence ccmes this spring of wrath, 

That leaves me but remorseful pain ? 
It lives inherent with my life ; 
It fills and fires my every vein. 

I knew I wronged you every time 

I uttered words against your worth — 

The moment my indignant mind 

To bitter thoughts of you gave birth. 



134 REPENTANCE. 

Did my discernment play me false 

When first I thought you were my friend ? 

When quiet sympathy and trust 

Your presence to my life did lend ? 

No, you were what you seemed to be, 
And it was I who wrought the wrong. 

I might by strength, and pure intent, 

Have shattered your convictions strong. 

I will not plead that sorrows past 

Have made my whole life one regret ; 

And yet the lines that cross my path 
Are shadows I would fain forget. 

I said conceit your thoughts did guide. 

I stood misjudged in your keen sight. 
My woman's virtue, you had deemed, 

Would bear no test, however slight. 

You said all women were but toys 
At man's disposal when he will ; 

Though to my sex this was great wrong, 
My heart with pity it did fill. 

For you, who might have known the best 

Of womankind most pure and true, 
Instead you chose another class, 

And by their license judged me too. 



A WOMAN'S HEART. 135 

You wronged me, sir ! — now anger comes ; 

I cannot quench its smothered flame, 
Though through my frankly offered gift 

Of friendship I was much to blame. 

But oh! forgive the words I spoke, 

Though wronging me you are forgiven ; 

For life is much too short a span, 

For friendship's ties to thus be riven. 



She stood a lonely picture 

Of mingled pride and scorn. 

And from her tongue fell scathing words 
That in her heart were born. 

No queen of royal kingdom 

Was ever half so fair 
As this pale, regal daughter 
Of the proud millionaire. 

There, amid pomp and splendor, 
She stood like queen dethroned ; 

A father's willful daughter. 

Whom he has just disowned. 



136 A WOMAN'S HEAR T. 

From gleaming throat and forehead, 
She tore the jewels rare; 

Detached the diamond crescent 
That decked her flowing hair. 

Took from her slender finger 

The old betrothal ring, 
That many a noble dame had worn, 

And cast it back to him 

Who stood abashed, his craven heart 
Unmasked by this frail girl. 

Who dared defy him, though a lord, 
And vengeance on him hurl. 

See how her pale lips quiver, 

With woman's wounded pride ; 

And how with perfect loathing 
She shuns her lover's side. 

Mark how her dark eye flashes 
Contemptfulness on him, 

Who feels that she has fathomed 
His heart so foul with sin. 

"' Pray, sir, do you remember 
The widow's only child 
Whom you, with well-spoke flattery. 
From home and friends beguiled ? 



A WOMAN'S HEART, 137 

" Taught her to heed your footsteps, 
To think she bore your name, 
Until, grown tired of feigning, 
You told her of her shame ? 

" See you her frail form swaying, 

Her heaving, anguished breast? 
Hear you the babe's low wailing 
You laid away to rest ? 

'' See you the speechless anguish 
Of her sweet, childish face ? 
Say, from your heart's dark tablets 
Can you this crime erase? 

^' Once did my whole heart answer 
To look or word of thine. 
Dreaming your soul's true honor 
Was greater far than mine. 

■" But now the name you offer 
Is but a gilded lie ; 
And rather than to bear it 
Most gladly would I die. 

^' See ! I renounce the splendors 

Of my cherished childhood's home ; 
Defy my angry father 

And meet the world alone ; 



138 A WISH. 

" Leave him bereft and lonely, 
Because his only child 
Will not her hand surrender, 
To you so base — defiled ! ' 



Years, on their fleet wings speeding, 

Find her a maiden yet. 
For the man she thus sent from her 

She never will forget. 



Shall I wish you, my friend, a palace, 

A liveried coachman and four ? 
Shall I wish that your sky may be cloudless, 

Your cup all sweet nectar and more ? 

Shall I wish you pure happiness alway, 
All the joys that a young life may hold ? 

And that all through the years may be scattered 
The laurels of pleasure and gold ? 

Ah no ! I but wish that your spirit 

May rise to that grandeur and height 
Where all may be peaceful around you. 
Untouched by a dark line or Wight. 



SYMPATHY. 139 

Though dark be the clouds that surround you, 
And narrow your pathway through pain, 

Clasp firm by the hand the Supernal, 
And rise to the summit again. 



Sympathy* 

DEDICATED TO A. M. 

You leave us to-night, with your face 

So set in its stern, secret pain ; 
And feel the farewell that you speak 

May never be uttered again. 

You beg, in your desperate need. 

That the bands may be loosed from your soul. 
That your pathway may lead through green fields. 

Your draughts be from Pleasure's sweet bowl. 

Oh, friend, I, a stranger, can see. 

But hold in deep silence alway, 
The secret your lips may not speak. 
The struggle that honor will sway. 

I see, and my heart whispers low, 

God pity you both in your need. 
Your lives may go on to the end, 

From bonds that now hold them unfreed. 



140 RETRIBUTION. 

You thought me a gay, jesting girl, 

Who saw through the bright eyes of joy, 

But O ! I can give — from a Ufe 

Made dark by the world's gross alloy — 

A pity and prayer to you both ; 

For I in the years that are gone 
Was coldly forbidden to speak 

The words that a false heart had won. 

Good-bye ! May God speed you, my friend, 
God help you to battle and win. 

For she whom you leave may yet be 
Your own without shadow of sin. 



Retribution, 

A man who is honored by all, 

He sits in his easy chair, 
With a poise of complacent ease, 
Bespeaking naught of care. 
Yet gaze a moment longer, friend ; 
What is the cast that seems to blend 
With what would seem his easy grace, 
A look that pales his genial face. 
And leaves it set with anguish ? 



RETRIBUTION. 141 

His beautiful, frail young wife, 

Comes noiselessly to his side; 
A look on her sweet, pale face. 
That smothers its innate pride ; 
A look that tells of secret pain, 
That never will leave that face again. 
The curse has fallen on her, my friend ; 
'Twill follow her on to the bitter end. 
From which her heart is shrinking. 

He draws her fondly down 

Till her golden ringlets rest. 
Like an innocent, timid dove. 

On his loving, shielding breast; 
But a pang like death cuts through his heart. 
While in awful dread he draws apart, 
For a voice comes wailing through the years, 
And turned to blood seem the maiden's tears, 
That were shed at bitter parting. 

The years flow swiftly on, 

And a baby's tottering feet 
Is the music best he loves. 

In his own dear home retreat; 
But the phantom dark still follows on ; 
Though he sees it not, it beckons ''Come !" 
To his much-loved wife and his only child ; 
His tears shall burn and his brain grow wild, 
When he sees them dead before him. 



142 RETRIBUTION. 

This man so honored by all 

Once broke a solemn vow; 
He recked not what the cost. 
Behold him now ! 
Grown old and desolate with pain, 
Grown old in youth, he seeks in vain 
For peace, forgetfulness and rest. 
This gleaning, friend, he httle guessed. 
But in justice it has found him. 

What cared he in his pride, 
If one in dumb despair, 
The scar his false hand made, 
Unto her death should wear ? 
God's mills are grinding slowly on ; 
They mete out justice to each one; 
And when you cause a heart to bleed, 
Beware the fruit ! You sow the seed ; 
Your own shall be the harvest ! 



MUSINGS. 143 

musings. 

Sweet young faces, gay young voices, 

Happy hearts and cheery bell. 
While I sit alone and dreary. 

Of a youth long faded tell. 

Flowing brooks with foamy ripple 
Seem to speak of childhood hours ; 

Youth's bright faces smile upon me 

From the frail, sweet-scented flowers. 

Slowly now the moon is stealing 

From behind a somber veil ; 
But anon the dark clouds rifting 

Hide again her face so pale. 

Light and shadow blend together, 

Just as to each lot they fall ; 
Youth is born with joy to greet it; 

Age can end but in death's pall. 

Thus I muse, while o'er me stealing, 
Comes the peace that twilight brings ; 

At my feet the brook still murmurs 
O'er my head the night bird sings. 



144 PLATO'S DISCIPLE. 

Oh ! could youth but know the treasures 

Cast away in idle hours ! 
Oh ! could age regain the pleasures 

Left behind with childhood dowers 1 



Plato's Disciple, 

A heart replete with honest friendship's store^ 

Giving in turn for all it gained, 
And yet much more; 

Longing to clasp the hand of truth and trusty 

And though the many give, 
They give not gold, but dust. 

Once in girlhood's dreaming it had found 

The gem it sought so long, 
And straightway all its depth was bound 

To one more false than any it had spurned; 

But years of happy intercourse went by 
Ere this sad truth its blinded faith had learned. 

Then in its pain a solemn oath it swore — 

Though groping still to find a friend 
Whom it might love — to trust no more. 



PLATO'S DISCIPLE. 145 

Years passed, a woman came, young, sad, pale-faced, 

With show of such true womanhood 
That all past doubt her pledges soon erased. 

Trusting and loving now down to its very core, 

All that had sorrow tasted. 
Again it dreamed, was o'er. 

Oh, why must the viper sting this trusting heart ? 

Oh, why must it thus forever 
From what it craves be held apart ? 

For, once again the bud, worm-eaten ere it blooms, 

Falls from its withering stem, 
And silence fills the lone heart's rooms. 

And now grown more mature in years. 

Past the relief once given, 
The gushing font of tears. 

It hopes no more, nor clings to what it may, 

For in God's noblest creatures 
It sees not worth or trust, but clay. 

And will it wake no more ? you ask. Ah me ! 

That state in which it dwells 
Would it might keep ; but that may never be. 

The next, a quiet, grave man, most noble seeming, 

And she who oft was wakened 
So rudely, once again is dreaming. 



146 PEARLS. 

He seemed so truthful in his quiet forgetting 

That she a woman was, 
And he her peer, that soon she ceased regretting 

That difference in their sex caused friends to blunder, 

Forgot that friendship's ties 
Malicious tongues and misjudged acts could sunder. 

Ah well ! though I could wish this last gem's glimmer 

More real than those 
That reason's light e'en than the meanest fraud found 
dimmer, 

My wish were vain, for he but proved another 

Like unto the man of old 
Who cheaply bought the birthright of his brother. 

She wakes at last? you ask. Ah no, she still is 
dreaming. 
This time, a dark-eyed, skeptic girl 
Is her bright star. Oh fool, this, too, is seeming. 

Pearls* 

A word : but oh, how precious, 
If 'twere in kindness spoken ! 

A word: but if in anger, 

It may some heart have broken ! 



TO A FRIEND BEREFT. 

Co a Triend Bereft 

Oh ! what regret should our hearts hold, 
When honor stamps the brow that's cold, 
When the pale lips, forever sealed, 
At death the heart's deep truth revealed ? 

Why do our eyes grow dim with woe ? 
Why do our faint hearts hunger so ? 
Why do we long with the keenest pain 
For the spirit fled to return again ? 

Why through it all must we fail to see 
The grave's most glorious victory ? 
And why to this truth are we ever blind ? 
Death leaves all care and pain behind ! 

Why ask in vain of the strange decree, 
Why it has robbed both you and me ? 
The answer would never supply our need. 
" Earth's joys are born of sorrow's seed." 

Why mourn for one who leaves a name 
Whose merit is more dear than fame. 
Whose loss the many will regret. 
Whose worth and truth none can forget ? 



147 



148 AFTER THE STORM. 

And such was he whose soul to-day 
Broke through the prison bars of clay. 
Weep not ; his memory lives, and will 
When all hearts throbbing now are still. 

Rise and discern the grander part ! 
Open to God your poor, crushed heart ! 
Live for the future. The past has fled; 
Lay it to-day in the grave of your dead ! 



Hfter tbe Storm. 

Yriends are around us with gay, smiling faces, 
Each one possessing its own charms and graces, 
That won for itself a fond place in the heart. 
From which its remembrance will never depart. 

But lo ! in the distance the dark clouds are shaping, 
From out of their depths all the brightness escaping. 
We turn in our need ; but, alas ! they have vanished. 
The dearest, the truest, misfortune has banished. 

Then gather the fragments of friendship together ; 
The few that have stood the swift changes of weather. 
For they who were true when our faint heart was 

weeping 
Are jewels too precious to lose from our keeping. 



LIFE'S ILLUSIONS. 149 



Life's Tl!u$!on$, 

Searching among my treasures old, 

Dearer far than mines of gold, 

Some are blurred by memory's tears, 

Others obscured by the dust of years ; 

One old book from its musty case 

I take, and many a semblance trace. 

In its yellow pages, to youth's loved time, 

When to me its teachings were sublime. 

Thus each memento holds its room 

In hearts that since were filled with gloom. 

That book recalls a school-girl's life, 

When every hour with joy was rife ; 

When I saw with eyes of perfect trust, 

Nor paused to find the world's dark rust, 

The sham, deceit, unreal and sin 

Of all that earliest did win 

My confidence, my strongest faith. 

Only to blight and then lay waste 

The heart it had filled with nectar sweet ; 

To come on demon's pinions fleet 



1 so LIFE'S ILL USIONS. 

And dash from the cup its bh'ss, its all, 

Refilling again with the bitterest gall. 

Oh, days of my youth, when my eyes were blind, 

You cheated my trust, but were thus most kind, 

Like the prophet false in the silver veil. 

You taught me with senses benumbed to hail 

Truths far too shining for my weak sight ; 

But when unmasked by reason's light, 

Hideous monsters they proved to be 

That were guiding stars in the past to me. 

But yet I long for your visions bright. 

To return and cheer my soul to-night; 

For to roam once more in your mystic spheres, 

I'd forget the sight of maturer years. 

I have sat in the gloaming at eventide, 

Not alone, for memory was by my side, 

And called up the phantoms of other years, 

Commingling their visions with bitter tears ; 

Bitter because they were shed in vain 

For days that will never return again. 

Then turned to the world and its stern decree. 
That has shut out the past and its joy from me, 
And questioned again as I groped my way 
Back to the light of reason's day : 



LIFE'S ILLUSIONS. 151 

Is to see to suffer? Is wisdom a curse ? 

And is a fool's paradise better or worse ? 

But knowledge has opened her doorway wide, 

That I in her halls may sit side by side 

With those who would sneer at my honest delight 

In memory's visions, so dear to my sight. 

So in silence I travel the pathway of doubt, 
Alone amid thousands whose minds are en route 
For deep mines of wisdom, to quiet the call 
Of hearts, souls and brains that are fast in the thrall 
Of the same hidden monsters that lured me in youth 
To the quicksands of doubt when I sought only truth. 
Like the moth at the candle, they hover around 
Till in sophistry's fetters securely they're bound. 

So, girls, be content o'er your books and your play ; 
Let joy unalloyed be the guide of each day; 
For books and short dresses you'll soon lay aside. 
And your heart's purest founts will be frozen by pride, 
Or life's dark reverses will shatter your dreams ; 
For naught to you then will be as it now seems. 
When reason's cold light will have entered your heart 
To bid the illusions of school-life depart. 



152 TO AN ABSENT FRIEND. 

to an Jfbsent Trkna. 

In the heart of a great city's turmoil and din, 
Meeting each day its allurements and sin, 
Pausing to see through the crowd surging by, 
Somewhere to land your tired feet high and dry. 
Feeling a strange pity, something of pain, 
When you are met with that sad plea again, 
*' Please, sir, a penny; I've nowhere to go ; 
Oh, sir, have pity, I'm lost in the snow." 

Where are you now, while the night curtains fall ? 
Pushing your way to the densely thronged hall ; 
Sitting enthralled 'mid the splendor and show, 
Watching the beauties that glide to and fro ; 
Over the footlights, a vision of grace, 
Holds you spell-bound with her sweet witching face. 
Then you arise and go out in the night. 
Shutting the city's strange scenes from your sight. 

Lonely, bewildered, you seek your own room, 
Wonder, and shrink from its silence and gloom. 
Lighting your small lamp, the first thing you see, 
Letters from home, and this poem from me. 
Letters from home ! and your heart swells with pain, 
** When shall I see their dear faces again ?" 
Back to your old home your thoughts travel fast, 
Bringing you phantoms of days that are past. 



SLANDER. 153 

Can you forget us, dear friend, far away ? 
Will you return to us gladly some day ? 
When will your world-weary, travel- tired frame 
Rest in your long- vacant chair once again ? 



Hush, woman, she's dead ! does the thought give 
you joy 

That at last your vile work is complete ? 
Does the once happy life that you've blasted so soon, 

Seem the wreck that you see at your feet ? 

Does that face from which vigor and gladness have 
fled. 

So stern in its haggard repose, 
Seem the beautiful one so beloved for its charms, 

That blushed with the hue of the rose ? 

She came to our circle a sweet, trusting child; 

She offered affection to all; 
Her heart was untouched by the darkness of doubt ; 

From your hand she tasted its gall. 



154 SLANDER. 

What cared you, though homeless, to battle for bread, 

She earnestly toiled on her way ? 
Her one cherished treasure you sought in your greed ; 

Her name you did ruthlessly slay. 

You whispered vile slander in each list'ning ear, 
Unheeding the wounds which you gave ; 

And for some petty spite, only known to yourself, 
You have hunted a heart to the grave. 

I sat by her side at the day-break this morn, 
And held her cold hand in my own ; 

And in low, broken accents she told of the pain 
That her young life in silence has known. 

*'Thank God, it is over !" she said at the last, 
" I could not have gone through the years. 

With a shadow of evil pursuing my steps. 
Engulfing my soul with its fears." 

Alone with your conscience, O, woman of stone, 
Will not your heairt shrink at the sight 

Of a crime that must haunt you, unmoved tho' you 
seem. 
Till you turn from the specter in fright ? 

So go on your way ; there is One who will know, 
When noting your pride and disdain, 

That your soul must appear, unmasked in the end. 
Dark ! foul ! with the slanderer's stain. 



A DREAM. 155 



B Dream. 



List to the joyous notes ! 

Hark to the sweet refrain ! 
Naught is there of sadness, 

Naught of lingering ])ain. 

Happy songsters twitter, 

Joy to my wakening heart. 

Their notes will ever be 
Of this new life a part. 

What am I or who, 

That such great happiness 
Should thus pervade my life 

With brightest hours of bliss ? 

How unlike the past. 

This mystic realm of peace; 
Xfike dreams wherein I dwelt. 

In scented bowers of Greece, 

Where perfume fills the air, 
And rays of mellow light 

Make one celestial day, 
Unclouded by a night. 



156 A DREAM. 

And youth's eternal spring 
is ever gently flowing, 

To cool the blooming cheek, 
No care or sorrow knowing; 

And my glad heart responds 
To every chord that thrills, 

And some new found delight 
My whole rapt being fills. 

Oh hope ! Oh love ! Oh peace \ 
Oh joy beyond all thought. 

That few know here below, 

My heart so long has sought. 

Fill not the cup too full, 
Lest I live not to drain, 

Or draining, find the dregs 
The bitter taste of pain. 



UNMASKED. 157 



Last night by painful chance we met, 
And his stern face, so coldly set, 
Sent thrills of anguish through my heart. 
That stung me like a poisoned dart, 
That rankles yet. 

I stood in silent self-reproof, 
Amid a happy, laughing group, 
Who turned to mark the crimson tide, 
That though I strove I could not hide, 
And so I was condemned. 

Then all the waves of color fled, 
And left a face so like the dead. 
That pity shone from every glance. 
Pity ! — to pride the keenest lance. 
And thus he was avenged. 

No word was spoke — but silence said 
More than a written verdict read : 
** You are unmasked to every one; 
So yield you must ; pride is outdone, 
And forfeits now her crown." 



158 LITTLE NORA. 

A deep restraint o'er each one fell^ 
As though a sudden funeral-knell 
Had hushed their laugh and jest ; 
And, as an omen, in the west 

The orb of day went down. 

For years I played the bitter part 
Of crushing a rebellious heart, 
But now like a convicted thief 
I stole away to hide my grief. 

And bear my shame alone^ 

Efttle Hora, 

Hark ! I hear the car-bell ringing, 
And the whistle shrill and wild. 

Sounding like a wail of sorrow 
For the little, sleeping child. 

Now the cars are slowly halting, 

And each heart is filled with pain^ 

As they watch the drooping figure 
Just alighting from the train. 

Since she left us, just a fortnight, 
With her baby on her breast, 

God has called the little spirit 
In its casket laid to rest. 



LITTLE NORA. 159 

See her totter ! mark the quiver 

Of her white and anguished face, 

When she sees the Httle coffin 
Lifted from its resting-place. 

" Little Nora ! Oh, my baby !" 

Bursts in anguish from her heart. 

' ' Must I yield to the destroyer — 
You, of my own life a part ? 

" Little, prattling, blue-eyed Nora ! 
Learning just to lisp my name ; 
Can it be that Death forestalls me ? 
Has he,'^then, the stronger claim ?" 

Now the father, bowed in sorrow. 

Leads away his weeping wife ; 
Strives to comfort and console her; 

Though his heart with woe is rife. 

Solemnly the long procession 

Of their many sorrowing friends 

Moves toward the silent city 

Whither dust to dust descends. 



i6o TOO LATE. 

Is this all ? Ah, no, thank Heaven ! 

When the grasses of the Spring 
Wreathe that mound, another seraph 

In the choir above shall sing — 

" Gloria in excelsis Deo," 

And shall stretch her tiny hand 
Forth to lead them on to Jesus, 
In that happy, restful land. 



too £ate. 

Oh, beautiful, dark-eyed Maud Devere, 
With peerless form and soul-lit face. 

Who would have thought that one so pure 
Ever could feel the blow, disgrace ? 

Who that sees you lying to-day. 

In such a tranquil, dreamless sleep. 

Could think that shame had dyed your brow 
With fallen virtue's blushes deep. 

And those long, curling lashes 

That lie upon your marble cheek. 

Once rose with girlish, modest grace 
To show the heart that hid beneath. 



TOO LATE. i6i 

Oh, lips so cold and set in death, 

Your smiles were once like heaven's light ; 

And those frail, clinging, childlike hands 
Guided the wanderer's feet aright. 

And that white form, so stiff and cold, 

I held in rapture to my heart; 
But I was first from honor's vow 

And truth to you to stray apart. 

And oh, could I but call you back, 

I would retrieve your life from blame ; 

Raise you once more to a throne of love. 
Cherished, redeemed, my own again. 

This house of clay, so silent now, 

Was once the abode of your stainless soul ; 

But I, with passion-blinded hand. 

Have shattered the precious crystal bowl. 

Maud, my Maud, on that fatal day, 
I loved, but left you for sake of one, 

Whose heart was like a frozen lake 
Whose surface never felt the sun. 

She brought to me both rank and gold ; 

Her liveried servants bore a crest ; 
Her jewels chilled me with their glare. 

And from that hour I knew no rest. 



1 62 TOO LATE, 

But when I stood beside her couch, 
And held her hand in last farewell, 

I swore to seek the one I loved, 

And evermore the past make well. 

Back to your little vine- wreathed home 
I went to find its inmates fled ; 
Father and mother, all had gone 
To rest in the city of the dead. 

Lonely, bewildered, I strayed that night 
Through parts of the city steeped in sin ; 

And passing by one vile abode, 
Saw forms passing out and in. 

Saw through the doorway a shrouded form, 

Entered to find you lying here, 
Unmourned and deserted by all but those 

Too hard of heart to shed a tear. 

This is my work; Oh! God, forgive ! 

She should have been my honored wife. 
Who of the pitiless knows the woe 

Of the soul that has gone in its last dread strife ? 

I can but follow you to your grave, 

Only to mourn your bitter fate ; 
The love that would make your life all joy 

And atone for the past, has come too late. 



ADIEU TO SEYMOUR. 163 

jUdieu to Seymour* 

I break to-day the strongest ties 

My lonely life has ever known ; 
I pause and look a last farewell 

On what has been my home 
Through years of changeful joys and woes, 

So intermixed, I'd fain 
Accept the sadder, darker part, 

And live the rest again. 

Each object now that meets my eyes 

Holds in itself a potent spell 
That bids my memory kindly stay, 

While of the past its mentors tell. 
Oh ! souls that speak and hearts that burn 

When Friendship takes you by the hand, 
Who of you all could leave behind, 

Without a pang, the cherished band 

Of friends where you have dwelt for years, 

And held in deep and close esteem ; 
Whose memory till Hfe's latest hour 

Will thrill you like a vanished dream ? 
I see again the lighted hall ; 

I glide enraptured through the dance ; 
I feel the power of deep blue eyes 

That meet my own as if by chance. 



i64 ADIEU TO SEYMOUR. 

I roam again at eventide 

Through sweet and long-famiHar scenes, 
Anon to seek my Httle room 

And Uve their pleasures o'er in dreams. 
Oh ! why must it be so decreed ? 

Why do we bend against our will 
To that stern hand that guides our steps, 

And bids our pleading heart be still ? 

Why must we turn with longing eyes 

Away from scenes we love so well ? 
And tread in paths from which we shrink 

In direst awe ? Ah ! who can tell ? 
Why must we leave the best behind, 

And crush desire out of our lives ? 
While all the nobler, broader part 

Of our own being blindly strives 

To break the bonds of Destiny, 

That seem to smile in conscious power. 
When conquered in the bitter strife. 

We yield with grace at the last hour ? 
Dear friends, farewell. May thoughts of me 

Amid the gems of memory shine ; 
And may my faults forgotten rest — 

I banish yours from memory's shrine. 



IVHA T I WILL BE. 165 

UIDat T mm Be. 

" Look through the past," my conscience calls, 

'' From the time when a little child, 
You first committed a childish fault, 

By sin's alluring arts beguiled. 
Follow your life to the present hour. 

And note its many grave defects, 
Its strife for right o'erpowered by wrong, 

Its aspirations and regrets. 

' ' Think of its idle uselessness ; 

Its emptiness of all things great ; 
And ask yourself if, to make it what 

It should be, it is now too late ? 
Arouse yourself to earnest work ; 

And give your life a purpose grand ; 
Scorn that which black dishonor mars ; 

From aught untrue withhold your hand." 

Aroused by the voice of conscience. 

How long have I lived in vain ? 
For viewing the past with honest eyes, 

I shudder at fear it were thus again. 
I am going to be a woman ! 

And lead a pure, true woman's life, 
And undo my past and its petty wrongs, 

By being a helper in the strife. 



i66 HEAR TS HA UNTINGS. 

]>earr$ I)awntin3$, 

There's a picture to-night in my heart 
Of the home I left long ago. 

There's a vision of beauty and grace, 
And a grave that's under the snow. 

There's an upturned, happy face, 
There's a gleam of yellow hair ; 

There are deep, dark, violet eyes ; 
There's an empty easy chair. 

There's a sweet, low voice whose tones. 

Vibrate along the years; 
There's a spot where I go in spring. 

To water the flowers with tears. 

There's an unstrung harp up-stairs. 

In a room no one may see; 
There's a memory of clinging hands, 
That were all the world to me. 

And I sit o'er the coals and dream. 

Of that face I may not see ; 
'Till from earth and its cares and pain. 
My weary soul seems free. 

A tap at my office door, 

And back to the world again ; 

'Tis well for us its cares 

Will drive away our pain. 



A LAST GOOD-BYE. 167 

Jf Cast 6ooa-Byc. 

Yes, the shades of night are falling, 

The last of the dear old life ; 
And hard will it be to leave it, 

Though marred by a bitter strife. 

Though sickness and sorrow attended, 

Each day ere it saw its close. 
Yet something there was to sweeten 

Each hallowed night's repose. 

But its work is now completed ; 

Each task has had its hour. 
And the world has only left me 

A coffin, a shroud, and a flower. 

My treasures are few, you tell me. 

Nay, friend, they are many and grand, 
As pure as the frail white blossom 

I hold in my dying hand. 

For one is the love of Jesus ; 

'Twas won amid deepest pain, 
When I felt that my young life's gladness 

Would never be mine again. 



i68 A LAST GOOD-BYE. 

But it came in a mask of sorrow, 
And I shrank away in fear ; 

When a voice that thrilled me whispered, 
" Behold ! for Christ is near." 

And He's ever near in sorrow. 

Stretch forth your groping hand, 
And He'll clasp and guide you onward. 

To His own loved spirit-land. 

But my life work is ended ; 

And I'm glad that it is o'er, 
For the mask of pain has fallen. 

I will pierce the mists no more. 

So loved ones gather round me — 
The false ones and the true. 

You may deem this strange forgiveness, 
That goes from me to you. 

But you who grieved me sorest, 
Held once the dearest place ; 

And I wish that each dark memory 
This parting may erase. 

Is there a face around me 
That paled beneath a blow 

Which these cold lips have given ? 
Ah ! do not tell me, " No ;" 



FAITH'S REWARD. .169 

For each hand dealeth sorrow, 

And sorrow's seed is sown ; 
And that which we have planted 

Will bring us back our own. 

And peace be thine, my dear ones ; 

And when your work is done, 
May your crown in heaven sparkle 

With gems which you have won. 



Taitb's Reward. 

When we met that day on the street, my friend, 
Your face was haughty, set and cold; 

And I scarce could feel in the pain it gave 
That it was the face I knew of old. 

When I marked your look so strangely blank, 
And the proud uprise of your regal head, 

I said to myself in my bitter pain, 

" Ah ! would that memory of mine were dead." 

We hide our sorrows, and face the world 
With a smile that cannot cheat our pain ; 

And what for the strife that the hiding costs 
Does the world we baffle give back again ? 



lyo FAITH'S REWARD. 

It gives us scorn, if it fails to see 

The cause that moves us to brook its will ; 
Unsparing censure and sternest doubt, 

That bid the hope in our hearts be still. 

In our brightest hours it sweetly smiles. 
And lures us on to trust and love; 

'Mid gathering clouds it casts us off. 

As you would a poor, worn, faded glove. 

Ah ! friend of mine, I had loved you well. 
And deemed you true to nobler things; 

And my heart revolts in self-disgust 

At the faith in you remembrance brings. 

I sat last night 'mid a happy throng, 

And scanned the faces that once were bright 

With kindly friendship and good intent, 

Or thus they seemed to my craving sight. 

Averted glances, indifferent smiles. 

Had met my eyes, yet I sought again 

To pierce their masks, then thought, *'0, fie! 
Are such fickle hearts worth all this pain ? 

'' Is it well to yet prolong the spell 
Of faith in what earth cannot hold ? 

Is it well to give the best and take 

Cheap tinsel, deeming it purest gold ?" 



WELCOME HOME. ♦ 171 

Nay ! not for me ; I would rather pain ; 

The rack is better than poHshed steel. 
I would rather sink 'neath a savage hand 

Than live by a hand that could falsely heal. 

So, fare you well ; you have been most kind 
To lay the mask you have worn away ; 

And I give you thanks. You have taught me much; 
You have lit the path to a safer way. 



A welcome home to thy stranger bride ! 

She comes when our hearts with the Christmas tide 

Are full ; and her sweet and fresh young face 

In every heart shall find a place. 

And welcome home to thee, mv friend ! 
With wishes kind a hope we blend ! 
That the sea of life for you flow by, 
With no fitful storms to darken its sky. 

You have brought your bride with the strange new 

year. 
That has ushered in much hope and fear 
To our midst ; and we gladly offer here 
A song of joy for her life's new year. 



172 ' REFLECTIONS. 

May word or look from our little band 
Ne'er cloud her brow or stay thy hand 
From a friendly clasp, when change and time 
Have called you hence to another clime. 

Yes, welcome home to your stranger bride. 
May she linger long by your loving side. 
And when silver blends with her locks of gold, 
May she still the shrine of your fond heart hold. 



Reflections. 

Sitting to-night with the fire-light's glow 
Casting its bright gleams o'er me, 

Scenes that have slept for many a year 
Stand like a vision before me. 

Some there are wearing the robes of glee, 

Some that are pitiful, sad to see. 

Deep in the embers I now behold 

A castle quaint and grim. 
Seated around its social board 

Are forms that the years make dim. 
Phantom-like faces they smile to me 
Far o'er the blue and fathomless sea, — 



REFLECTIONS. 173 

Beckon and smile to their mate of old, 

Luring my heart to its home, 
I who put from me a title and gold. 

Only to meet all alone 
Life in its sternest and bitterest gloom, 
Happiness barred by the door of the tomb. 

Down the broad stairway so echoless now, 
Happy and glowing, a bride one night, 

Slowly descended in trailing robes 
Of beautiful, shimmering white; 

Knelt but to hear a father's curse. 

Rising to flee when his lips spake worse. 

*' Rise and go from me, undutiful child ! 

And while in death I am growing cold, 
You, the curse of my sad old age, 

I shall never more behold. 
Go ! you are daughter of mine no more ! 
Go ! you have tarnished the name you bore." 

Laid to rest long years ago. 

Is my father's sorrow- whitened head; 
They my playmates in girlhood days. 

Are scattered and some are dead. 
But a father's curse has followed me, 
Even across the mighty sea. 



174 REFLECTIONS. 

And a weary woman I sit to-night, 

In the firehght's ruddy glow, 
With thin hands clasped 'round my aching head, 

While I weep o'er the long ago. 
While a voice through the years seems to whisper, 

" Come, 
" Come back to your dear ancestral home." 

And my hand seems clasped by those I love, • 

Who welcome me back once more ; 
And my heart is filled with a flood of joy 

When I touch my native shore. 
And I pause to kneel on the cliffs once more 
And list to the great Atlantic's roar. 

Oh ! beautiful, long-loved, English home ! 

Oh friends that are lost and dead ! 
When the silent boatman beckons me 

To my last and narrow bed. 
Will you meet me there on the golden shore. 
Where a father's curse shall be known no more ? 



ro FRIENDSHIP. 175 

to Triendsbip- 

May I offer a weak little tribute 

To that which my heart may not feel — 

A sentiment grand in its structure, 
But one that few lives may reveal ? 

Will you read it, then tear it asunder ; 

Then pity the brain that could weave 
A web of such fanciful texture 

That but to the fancy will cleave ? 

Will you gaze on the poor, misled muses 
That crowded a brain and a heart, 

And know that of every emotion 

They hold the most luxurious part ? 

Will you wonder what taught them to wander 

Away through the vista of time, 
To cull all the blossoms and lyrics. 

And carefully hoard the sublime ? 

Will you sneer when I frankly acknowledge 

Myself too unworthy to claim 
The smallest and lowliest fragment 

Of friendship, that most sacred name? 



176 TO FRIENDSHIP. 

For those whom I hold as the dearest, 
Yes, smile, but acknowledge yourself 

A like human mass of pretentions : 
Not porcelain, but coarsest of delf. 



How aptly we offer our friendship. 

While eloquence flavors our speech ; 

When claiming to give that so noble. 
Which we of the earth cannot reach 



For friendship is something so holy. 
So purely immortal and great. 

That we may but see in our visions. 
Ere mortality closes the gate. 

If I could but offer a friendship 

Like that which great Plato described, 

Untouched by the motives of Mammon, 
By grossness of nature unbribed, 



I'd feel that I'd chmbed to the summit 
Of all that was lofty and grand ; 

And to only the few who had loved me 

Would I give the warm clasp of my hand. 



DOUBT. 177 

For easier is it to offer 

Affection of which poets sing ; 
The sweet, the undying devotion, 

Of love and all that it will bring. 

For selfishness there is the monarch 

That guides every power of the heart ; 

And in pure abandon, while sated. 
He bids nobler feelings depart. 

So they who have offered me friendship 

Have cast the great jewel away ; 
For prizing and knowing its value, 

I feel that it is far astray. 



Doubt. 

Who are so true as those who asking naught 
Of friendly interest from the one they shield. 

With strange alliance to what they deem just, 
Only when right has won will quit the field ? 

Who is so true as he who stands apart 

From out the cold, misjudging throng of men, 

And stoutly fights in single-handed faith. 

Although he feels he does himself condemn ? 



178 DOUBT. 

Who so deserving of our love and trust 
As he who, when all others turn away 

Because the clouds have darkened in our sky, 
Obscuring all prosperity's bright day, 

Stands nobly up, and braves the gathering storm, 
Firm amid those who laugh his trust to shame ? 

Ah ! there are few amid the swarm of men 
Who with such pure fidelity were born. 

Vows are but foam upon a poisoned sea. 

We gather them ; in mist they melt away. 
Smiles are the lures that warm our souls with trust, 

Only at last to torture and betray. 

Faces that charm, and voice of tender tone. 

Hands whose warm clasp can strangely thrill the 
heart, 

Hold in their keeping stings as sharp as death. 
Oh ! trust them not, or peace will soon depart. 

Sweet, honeyed words but hold an adder's sting, 
White, soothing hands are agents oft of sin. 

Dark, pleading eyes that hold us in a spell. 
Beauteous may be, yet demons lurk within. 



L O OK DEEPER . 179 

Stern faces, set and cold from sorrow's frost, 

Hands that but give the clasp of friendship pure, 

Lips that are sealed when others praise our worth, — 
Those we may trust, for they will all endure. 

Justice forbids that I should dare descry 

Friendship and truth in all my fellow-men , 

But that which charms is that which may be false ; 
Diamond of paste oft seems the purest gem. 



CooU Deeper, 

My friend, you marvel that a face and form so plain. 
So seemingly untouched by aught of grace, 

Can be the outer garment of a heart and soul 
That long to reach such grand and lofty space. 

And you would question, manlike, with a smile 
That holds within it much of quiet disdain, 

What lit the fire of genius in my unlearned heart. 
And taught me thus to hunger after fame ? 

Sit by my side a quiet hour to-night. 

Be friend and brother, for so long a while, 

And I shall try, in what I have to tell, 
The slowly lagging hours to beguile. 



i8o LOOK DEEPER. 

You know that 1 was born to lonely fate ; 

To homeless orphanage while yet a child : 
No parents' hands made smooth the thorny way, 

Or chided when the precious hours I whiled. 

The fierce, inherent passions of my heart 
Were yet to sway the current of my life ; 

Were yet to rage, till, spent in bitter pain. 

Their fires were quenched forever in the strife. 

In loneliness and toiling youth was spent ; 

My dearest kin we've carried to the grave. 
Then Christ withheld the stern and chastening rod, 

And strove my poor, rebellious heart to save. 

The days were dark; the nights were cold and long; 

But through the darkness spoke the voice of God. 
It told of that rough, thorny, narrow way, 

That many a sorely tempted soul has trod. 

And while my heart was torn, and parting words 
Were on my lips, as oft I took my way 

'Mid stranger scenes, to gain my daily bread, 
A power within me rose and seemed to say : 

" The sea of sorrow shall but drain the dross 

From out the gems that every heart must hold ; 

Refine each fibre of the human mind. 

And bring to light its wealth of shining gold. 



LOOK DEEPER . 1 8 1 

"Had luxury but offered you a shrine, 

In dormant state your soul would be to-day ; 

But poverty and strife and untold care 

Your soul to its true work have shown the way." 

I hstened; and O, what great joy was mine! 

What would have been a fairer form and face, 
Compared with that which sorrow's adverse winds, 

Or biting frosts of time cannot erase ? 

So marvel not, my friend, nor pity me — 

You with your store of wealth and manly grace ; 

Mine is a bliss that blight can never change, 
While yours the hand of time may yet efface. 



i82 " OH, LET ME DREAM AGAIN:' 

**0]), Cet mc Dream Jlgaim" 

Last night I yielded the gauntlets, 
And confessed myself outdone, 

For by one whose only charm is gold 
The prize I sought was won. 

And I crept away in the shadows 

To hide my awful grief; 
To hide from the throng my pain and loss, 

Like a self-convicted thief. 

While the beautiful strains of music 
Were guiding the mazy dance, 

And happy hearts were chiming 
In the mystic ball-room trance, 

I stole away from the dancers 

To dream of my joy alone ; 
Inspired by the clasp of my prince's arms, 

And his low, vibrating tone. 

Deep in the realms of floral land 

I found a quiet spot. 
And sitting there with my happy thoughts 

I could not be found, though sought. 



'' Off, LET ME DREAM again:' 183 

^yhen I heard the sound of voices, 

And one I knew so well, 
And the words it uttered, soft and low, 

Rang Love's funeral knell. 



While he asked that gilded shadow 

To be his honored wife. 
My young heart fell from its throne of love 

And yielded up its life. 

This man I had deemed so noble ; 

And loved him better than life ; 
And he in his turn had loved as well, 

But gold had won the strife. 



She simperingly consented, 

Calling him, " Chester, dear!" 

He would sell his soul so cheaply, 
Whom I had made my peer. 



And while he bent his princely head, 
And clasped in his embrace 

A woman whom at heart he loathed, 
I hid my flaming face 



184 " OH, LET ME DREAM AGAIN. 

In very shame, not for myself — 
For I bore naught of blame — 

But for the man who thus could stain 
An old, an honored name. 

In the cold, gray hours of morning, 
I dressed and sought the street ; 

Chilled by the winter blast of woe. 
And stung by its driving sleet. 

I hastened on, I knew not where, 
And sought but to escape 

The vision that before me rose 
In such appalling shape. 

The maddening vision vanishes : 
I wake. — But not since then 

Have I e'er sung that lovely song, 
*' Oh, let me dream again !" 



